Magical Relations
by evansentranced
Summary: AU First Year onward: Harry's relatives were shocked when the Hogwarts letters came. Not because Harry got into Hogwarts. They had expected that. But Dudley, on the other hand...That had been a surprise. Currently in 5th year.
1. The Letters

_The banner for this story was made by **j1mmyj6zz dot deviantart dot com**, because beautiful human beings make beautiful things for lucky people. ^^_

* * *

One fateful morning, Petunia Dursley awoke to find a small boy laying in a basket on her front doorstep. Her screaming woke the neighbors.

* * *

Where ever Harry Potter went, strange things happened.

This was the truth as far as his Aunt and Uncle were concerned, anyway. Harry had always privately thought this ridiculous; he hadn't been there the day Aunt Petunia discovered that the freezer had been filled to the brim with ice cream. He'd been at Mrs. Figg's house.

He also hadn't been there the day the neighbor's dog had ended up in a tree. Then again, it could have been so afraid of Dudley's tank that it had climbed up there itself. Harry could sympathise. But it was still a bit odd, and he still hadn't been present, which hadn't stopped his relatives from giving him shifty eyes as the neighbor explained it all to Aunt Petunia over tea.

Harry did admit that sometimes strange things happened while he was around, like the school roof, and the teacher's wig. But they happened just as often when he was off somewhere else. Harry just assumed that strange things were a fact of life, and that obviously his relatives were so caught up in being normal that they overlooked how normal these supposedly strange things were, and blamed him for them for some inexplicable reason.

As if _he_ could have caused all of it to happen.

* * *

_-Click-_

"Get the mail, Dudley."

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smeltings Stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the stick and went into the front hall, wondering how he could make Dudley's Smeltings Stick 'disappear'. As he walked slowly back to the kitchen, he sorted through the mail. A bill, a postcard from Aunt Marge, and two thick letters made of something Harry thought was probably parchment. The first was addressed to Dudley in green ink, and he flipped the second over, expecting the same, only to have his jaw drop in surprise.

It was for him.

He stared at it in shock for a moment. He never got letters. He looked from his to Dudley's. They were identical, except, where Dudley's was addressed to "The Largest Room", his was addressed to "The Cupboard Under the Stairs".

Harry continued to stare at his letter, handing Uncle Vernon his mail absently, and dropping Dudley's letter onto his plate.

"It's your letter," Harry said in response to the irritated grunt he received as his only thank you.

"What's this?" Aunt Petunia asked warmly, not turning away from the stove. "Has my Diddydums got a letter?"

Dudley grinned and nodded, before picking up the thick parchment envelope and tearing into it.

Aunt Petunia, who had turned around to watch him open it, gasped in shock and plucked the papers out of his hands. Dudley made an angry sound that sounded vaguely like "Mine!", but Aunt Petunia didn't seem to hear him. She was staring at the address on the letter as though her world had just been flipped upside down.

"Vernon, oh my...Vernon!" she cried out shrilly, looking from a curious Vernon to an angry Dudley to a bewildered Harry. Since when did Aunt Petunia take things away from Dudley? Harry shrugged and got back to unfolding his own letter under the table as Uncle Vernon looked up and saw the parchment in Aunt Petunia's hands. He took it and looked at it for a moment, before turning to stare blankly at Dudley.

"I want my letter!" Dudley demanded angrily. His parents had never done this before. "Why does Harry get to see his letter and I don't get to see mine?"

And now Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were looking at Harry, who was staring in wide eyed shock at the parchment he was reading. Aunt Petunia quickly snatched it away from him, skimming it before pushing it at Vernon and whispering, "Vernon, what do we do?"

Uncle Vernon seemed to have turned a very strange color puce. Harry watched him warily, still feeling rather shocked by what he'd just read. He'd been invited to a school. For wizards. Could it be true? Could he really be a wizard?

"The boy's gone and contaminated Dudley," Vernon said, looking outraged as he came to, in his mind, the only logical conclusion. "He's made our boy into...into...one of them!"

Aunt Petunia moaned and sank down into her chair, clutching her head with her hands. Dudley was now staring at his parents, confused and angry, wanting to know what the letter had said.

Harry had gone into shock. The way Uncle Vernon was talking, it sounded like the letter was the real thing. He was a wizard.

And so, apparently, was Dudley.

* * *

Harry and Dudley had been booted out of the kitchen, and were currently standing in the hall. Harry expected a fight over who would listen at the keyhole, but Dudley didn't even glance at the door. His piggy gaze was fixed on Harry, who had suddenly become very nervous.

"What did yours say?" Dudley asked, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

"I'll tell you," Harry said, thinking fast, "If you promise not to beat me up for the rest of the summer."

Dudley paused, his chubby face screwing up in thought. "Why don't I just beat you up and make you tell me?"

"Because..." Harry cast around, backing away slowly as Dudley advanced on him. "You won't know if I'm telling the truth. If you promise not to beat me up, or let any of your friends beat me up, I promise I won't lie to you."

Dudley stared at him for a moment, before nodding and saying, "Deal. Now tell me."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected that to work, and definitely not that fast. Dudley must really want to know.

"Okay, it said I'm invited to Hogwarts School of...witchcraft and wizardry," Harry said slowly, and, noting the disbelief on his cousin's face, rushed on "There was some name with a bunch of titles, Dumle-something... and it said there was a list of supplies on the next page, and that I'd have to go to a certain place to buy it all, but I don't remember where."

Dudley was staring at him, wide-eyed. "You're pulling my leg."

"No," Harry said solemnly. "I swear. From their reaction, I don't think your parents expected you to get one." He frowned. "Me, maybe…but not you."

"You mean..." Dudley looked suddenly very shocked.

"We're wizards." Harry couldn't help but grin. The entire idea was surreal, and the look on Dudley's face was too priceless.

"D'you think we'll actually go to that school? Hog..."

"Hogwarts?" Harry supplied. "I have no idea. You're parents didn't look too thrilled." His grin faded as a few things sank in. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia might not let them go. Then there was the fact that Dudley would go too. Despite the fact that they'd been getting along surprisingly well for the past few minutes, he had been looking forward to escaping Dudley at Stonewall. Now it seemed they would be sharing a school again. If they got to go at all.

Dudley seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "But...magic isn't...I mean, Mum and Dad said it's not real! This is all some stupid joke or something. And even if we do go to this...Hogwarts, I'll have to share a school with _you_."

Harry shook his head and bent down to look through the keyhole. Aunt Petunia was talking to Uncle Vernon, waving the letters wildly as she whispered. Harry could only hear snatches, but he caught words like "freak" and "my baby".

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon crossed the kitchen and pulled the door open. He stared down at Dudley and Harry, who had been very obviously eavesdropping, and said, "Dudley...boy."

Harry held back a wince. He was in trouble whenever Uncle Vernon called him boy.

"Both of you, into the sitting room." He brushed past them, and Dudley followed. Harry stared after them with no small amount of misgiving, but eventually had to follow as well.

Uncle Vernon was seated in his chair, and Dudley sat on the couch. Harry remained standing near the exit, shifting unnoticeably from foot to foot.

"You both," Uncle Vernon said as he waved the letters vaguely at them. "Have been accepted at a school." He sounded as though it was taking an awful lot to force these words out.

"A school of - "

"What kind of school, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked quickly, not wanting Dudley to reveal that they already knew.

"A school of..." Uncle Vernon glanced down at the topmost page before swallowing audibly and finishing. "A school of magic."

Dudley stared with wide eyes. Harry couldn't help it. He stared too. If Uncle Vernon, with his insistence that "There is no such thing as magic!" was taking it seriously, well Harry thought that he might have to believe it. Never mind that he'd never believed anything his Uncle had said before. This was very, _very_ different.

Uncle Vernon glanced at the top sheet again.

"The headmaster of this school has written your Aunt and I a letter, explaining a few things. We'll be taking you to get your things tomorrow, Dudley."

Harry's insides seemed to explode. They were going! But wait, Uncle Vernon had said...

"What about me, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, trying to breathe calmly. If Dudley was going and he wasn't...

"We aren't paying for you," Uncle Vernon said flatly, his eyes swiveling around to lock on Harry. "From what this man says, school supplies are expensive."

Harry's heart sank. He wasn't going. All because the Dursleys hated him too much to spare a bit of money.

"I could...I could earn it," Harry offered quietly, feeling very desperate. "I could work for the neighbors in the summer, get a job when I'm old enough, I'm sure I could earn money when I get to school somehow. I'd pay you back in full, I promise."

Uncle Vernon snorted at him. "A likely story."

Harry's spirits sank further. "I swear, Uncle Vernon. What..." And now he had to swallow what little pride the Dursleys had ever let him have, because he didn't see any other way of going. "Whatever it takes, sir. Please."

Uncle Vernon looked at him again, and stared back at the letter. He shook his head and Harry felt like he would cry.

"Fine."

Harry blinked. Fine? Was he serious? He looked carefully up at Uncle Vernon, who had a look on his face like he'd swallowed something unpleasant.

"I'll pay your way, but only if you promise I'll get every pound back."

Harry nodded vigorously, fighting down a whoop of joy. He was going! He was going to a school of magic and he'd learn...magic! He felt positively gleeful, and he had to fight very hard to keep his face a blank slate of gratitude.

"Thank you very much, Uncle Vernon."

"You'd better not fall back on your word, boy," Uncle Vernon said, his beady little eyes boring into Harry. "And if I find out you're wasting my money..."

"I won't sir, I promise," Harry needed to get out of this room, get someplace where he could muffle the gleeful whooping that he could feel pushing at the back of his throat.

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

Harry turned around, catching Dudley's eye as he left. His cousin had the oddest look on his face, almost as if he couldn't decide if he were happy or angry that Harry was going.

But Harry didn't care. He was going to learn magic. So was Dudley, but that didn't matter. It would still be amazing, and who knew? Maybe he could convince Dudley that the best thing for both of them would be to just ignore each other. He'd been able to persuade his cousin before.

* * *

The next day found Harry crammed into the backseat of the car with Dudley. Uncle Vernon was driving them to London to get their new school supplies. Aunt Petunia had opted to stay home; apparently, she was still in shock over the entire affair. Uncle Vernon hadn't been able to convince her to come, but not for lack of trying.

Harry had watched his fruitless attempt through the kitchen window that morning as he trimmed the hedges. Uncle Vernon had talked a lot, and waved around the parchment that he'd been holding the day before in the sitting room. The letter from the Headmaster of their new school. Harry had wondered vaguely what it said at the time, but soon decided he didn't really care. It was good enough that it made his uncle willing to let them go, willing to pay for Harry, and rendered his aunt unable to object. She had just sunk down at the table and snapped something at Uncle Vernon when he shoved the paper into her hands.

And now they were in London, searching for the place indicated in the directions. "The Leaky Cauldron". Surprisingly, Dudley spotted it first, pointing it out between a burger joint and a bookstore. Harry had the feeling he'd been paying more attention to the burger joint and that spotting the place had been a lucky coincidence.

When they'd made their way inside, Harry realized that the Leaky Cauldron was a pub. Why the school would send them to a pub was beyond him, and apparently beyond Uncle Vernon too, because he muttered something that sounded like, "Bloody mad lot," and marched up to the bartender, slamming the parchment down on the bar and demanding answers.

The man behind the bar was only too happy to assist them, leading them out into a dingy alleyway behind the pub and pulling out a stick. Harry looked at him curiously for a moment before realizing with a thrill that this was a wand.

After opening the wall magically (Uncle Vernon's eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his head. Dudley just looked awed.), he ushered them in, saying, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."

After following the directions on the parchment to a bank called Gringotts (Uncle Vernon took one look at the creatures inside and made Harry change the money by himself), they went to a robe shop, a bookstore, and an apothecary (which had smelled so badly that Harry was once again forced to go inside on his own). Harry did what he normally did when forced to go on shopping trips with the Dursleys; he kept his head down and made himself as unobtrusive as possible. Uncle Vernon bought him the bare minimum, and Dudley got whatever struck his fancy. At the wand shop, the man, Ollivander, seemed far more interested in Harry than Dudley, but Uncle Vernon forced him and his cryptic words to pay attention to Dudley and find him a proper wand.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have decided that if his son was going to be a wizard, then he was going to be a damn good one. Much better than Harry anyway. So when the store clerks sometimes seemed to brush past Dudley when they realized Harry was there, Uncle Vernon wasn't pleased, and he made this clear. He also made it clear that he was the man with the funny coins, as he called them, and that he was only going to be dishing this strange money out if the clerks did things to his satisfaction.

Harry didn't really mind his uncle's insistence that everyone pay attention to Dudley. He was used to it. And aside from that, it was very strange, the way people looked at him when they heard his name. He didn't know why they did it, and frankly, it unnerved him a little.

When they'd finished, both boys were loaded down with bags and oddly shaped packages, Harry more so than Dudley, because even though Dudley had gotten much, much more than him, he was still forced to carry most of it. But once again, this was normal. What wasn't normal was the way people were looking at him as he passed them by, following Uncle Vernon and Dudley back to the exit. Harry sped up, keeping close to his uncle, and feeling absurdly happy that he was with him. Even if Uncle Vernon disliked him, which Harry had no delusions about at all, the man had spent the entire day making sure that no one bothered Harry, if only because he felt Dudley was worth more attention.

* * *

By the time they got home, Dudley had whacked him round the head with his wand several times. Harry felt it would be prudent to keep quiet about the fact that you were supposed to use the wand for _magic_, not as a new Smelting Stick. He didn't want to see Dudley's attempts at magic. Harry would probably be turned into a toad by accident. He knew Dudley wouldn't be able to do anything on purpose.

Harry had spent most of the ride home pressed against the car door in a vain attempt to avoid Dudley. He also looked through a few of his books, and thought they were absolutely fascinating. Dudley had gotten the standard books as well, along with a few extra. Harry had been surprised until he saw the titles. "1001 Hexes, Jinxes and Curses" was the book Dudley had abandoned next to his seat. Harry was almost positive that his cousin would never look at this book again, but decided to wait a week or so before he rescued it, just in case.

When they got into the house, Aunt Petunia was waiting for them in the sitting room, thin-lipped and looking as though she'd spent the entire time they'd been gone sucking on a lemon.

"Mum, look what I got!" Dudley ran over and showed his mother a teacup he'd gotten from a joke shop in Diagon Alley. "Isn't it cool?"

Aunt Petunia appeared bewildered, but examined it anyway and said, "Well yes, darling, it's a lovely teacup – Aaahhh!"

She dropped the teacup as it began to wriggle and watched in horror as a rat appeared where the teacup had once been. Dudley laughed uproariously, and Harry quickly left the room, recognizing the look on his aunt's face. He felt odd, though. He'd never seen that look directed at anyone but himself before today.

As he stuffed himself and his new things into the cupboard and proceeded to unwrap and pack them all in his trunk, he thought about his aunt's expression. For a second, he could have sworn she'd looked hateful. And if it had been anyone but Dudley she'd been looking at, he would have believed it too.

Harry shook his head and wondered why he cared. Even if it his aunt suddenly hated Dudley, it was none of his concern. Even so, it was unsettling, he thought as he admired his new robes and placed them neatly into his trunk. Aunt Petunia hating Dudley. It didn't seem possible… and it probably wasn't. Harry was just making something out of nothing.

He closed his trunk and put it under his cot. It caused a slight bulge in the bottom, but it wouldn't fit anywhere else. Harry sighed and shifted, trying to ignore the new bump. He would never have imagined that he would suddenly have so much stuff that his cupboard would become uncomfortable.

He couldn't help but grin at the idea. The thought that followed was even better though, and it made him cover his mouth to stifle the happy laughter that threatened to remind the Dursleys of his presence. Soon he wouldn't even have to worry about his cupboard being uncomfortable. Soon he'd be at a new school, learning _magic._

The very idea was mind-boggling, and Harry lay grinning in his cupboard until morning, mind happily boggled.


	2. The Leaving

* * *

A little over a month later, Harry was loading his and Dudley's trunks into Uncle Vernon's company car and feeling as though there was a balloon inflating his insides. Today was the day. They were going to Hogwarts!

He barely spared his aunt a glance as she gave them a stiff goodbye from the doorway. He did notice that Dudley seemed rather upset though. But then, after the last month, that was understandable. Harry was caught between a guilty sort of glee and pity when he thought about what had happened over the last month between his aunt and cousin. Aunt Petunia seemed torn between doting on Dudley as she always had, and being utterly repulsed by him.

The only thing Harry could make any sense of in the entire affair was that his aunt not only knew about magic, but she hated it. Passionately. And she seemed unable to decide if this hatred extended to her only son.

So Harry had spent the past month along with his uncle, watching in bafflement as Aunt Petunia alternately snapped at Dudley as though he was Harry, which upset and confused Dudley, and acted overly sweet toward him, which still confused him. During these sweet moments, she sometimes looked nauseous as she hugged her precious Diddydums, and if Dudley made one mention of school or magic or even Harry, she immediately froze up and snapped at him again.

As it was, Harry and Uncle Vernon had watched as Aunt Petunia said a brisk goodbye and gave her son a very brief hug, as though she didn't really want to touch him. She, of course, ignored Harry entirely, which was nothing unexpected.

Uncle Vernon allowed Dudley to sit in the front seat with him, which gave Harry the entire back seat to stretch out in. He didn't, of course, because Uncle Vernon would kill him if he put his feet on the upholstery, but the fact remained that he wasn't being crowded or whacked over the head by an idiot who kept forgetting he was a wizard. He smiled as he listened to Uncle Vernon swear at the radio. School hadn't even started, and here he was, already reaping the benefits.

When they got to Kings Cross, Harry nearly loaded their things onto separate trolleys, before remembering that there was no way Dudley would push his own. He steered the full trolley into the train station behind his uncle and cousin, who were discussing the matter of the platform in hushed tones. Uncle Vernon may have accepted that Dudley was a wizard, but that didn't mean he wanted people to _know_ it.

When they got to platform ten, Uncle Vernon stopped and stared around uncertainly.

"Boy," he said, turning around and staring at Harry, who was breathing hard as he pushed the heavy trolley as best he could. "Do you see Platform 9 ¾?"

"P-platform _what_?" Harry panted, pulling as hard as he could on the trolley in an attempt to stop it. He sighed in relief and leaned against the trolley. "Are you sure they don't mean nine?"

"Of course I'm sure," Uncle Vernon hissed, shoving the ticket into his hands and forcing Harry to step away from the trolley. "It says it right there. Now find it."

Harry stared at the ticket in bewilderment and leaned against the barrier between platforms nine and ten, still breathing hard from the exertion of moving the trunk.

A second later, he fell through the wall and landed on his back, staring up at a sign that read, "Platform 9 ¾"

* * *

Ten minutes later found Harry loading his and Dudley's things onto the train. Uncle Vernon had been unable to get through the platform for some reason, so he'd said goodbye out next to platform ten. That is, he ordered Harry to go get on the train and said a proper goodbye to Dudley. The last thing Harry saw before falling back through the barrier again was Uncle Vernon gruffly shaking Dudley's hand and telling him how proud he was of him.

Harry thought Uncle Vernon might have been feeling slightly guilty over the way Aunt Petunia had been treating Dudley for the past month. He also thought he couldn't care less, and that he was finally rid of the both of them. As he struggled to load Dudley's trunk onto the train, he thought of various ways that he could keep Dudley from bothering him. There were a lot of people on this platform. Harry thought he might be able to lose himself in the crowd and make Dudley forget that he even existed.

It had worked before, he thought philosophically as he stuffed Dudley's trunk under a seat and set off to find a different compartment. He would start now by avoiding Dudley on the train.

He found an empty compartment toward the back and stowed his stuff there, in the luggage rack. It was more difficult than putting it under the seat, but he figured Dudley would definitely be looking for him and as long as his stuff was up high, his cousin wouldn't bother with the physical labor required to tamper with it. Harry had nearly been trunk-crushed just putting it up there.

He settled down in a chair with one of his books. It was potions, which was the one he understood the least. He had promised Uncle Vernon that he wouldn't waste his money, and he was afraid that if Uncle Vernon thought he wasn't getting much out of this school, then he would have to drop out and go to Stonewall.

He had a feeling that he was going to have to help Dudley somehow, because if Dudley did worse than Harry, no matter that Harry wasn't wasting his education, Uncle Vernon would still be upset.

In fact, Harry thought, having hit upon a sudden epiphany, if he knew the material well enough, he could bribe Dudley into leaving him alone by doing his homework for him.

And so it was with this thought that Harry returned to studying his potions textbook with renewed vigor.

* * *

They had been on the train for hours, Harry thought as he sat hidden in one of the lavatories. It looked a bit like his cupboard, only it had a sink and a toilet instead of a cot.

In fact, it was like his cupboard in more than appearance. He was hiding in here from Dudley, which made this very much like his cupboard. Aside from the toilet, and the fact that he could lock the door from the inside, and people couldn't just slam the door open and closed whenever they liked, this was very much like his cupboard. Especially since he'd been in here for the past four hours.

He'd been kicked out of his compartment not thirty minutes after he found it. Three older boys had wandered in, seen him, and ordered him out immediately. From there he'd wandered the hall, cautious to not be seen by anyone inside the compartments, in case one of those 'anyone's were Dudley. He knew what Dudley did when he was bored, and he also knew how easily Dudley could become bored, having lived with his fat cousin since his parents had died in that car accident.

Having wandered half the length of the train, and having arrived at the place where he'd left Dudley's trunk, he cautiously peeked inside the compartment to see if his cousin was there.

He was. He was sitting with two other boys, a redhead and a sandy haired boy. They both appeared fascinated by what he was saying, although Dudley didn't look too happy.

As Harry watched curiously, Dudley glanced up at the door, then did a double take and stared at him, an evil grin splitting his face.

_Bugger._

It was at this point that Harry had taken refuge in the bathroom.

* * *

Much, much later, Harry awoke with a jolt as the train slowed and began to stop. He cautiously peeked his head out of the bathroom and glanced around. Dudley was nowhere to be seen. Good.

Harry stepped out of the lavatory, noting through one of the compartment windows that everyone else was wearing their uniforms. He probably needed to put his own on, especially since they were stopping. He darted down the hall to the compartment he'd been in and ducked inside, startling the three boys who'd stolen it from him. He quickly apologized and reached up to dig through his trunk, pulling out a set of robes before dashing out of the compartment. Those boys had looked about ready to hex him.

Newly changed and feeling much more confident, Harry joined the rest of the students as they disembarked and milled on the platform. He had just begun wondering what he was supposed to be doing when he heard a shout.

"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!"

Harry sighed in relief and followed the voice, ending up in a group with a bunch of other kids his age, all standing in front of a giant of a man. He remembered the creatures in the bank at Diagon Alley and shrugged mentally, figuring the wizarding world had all sorts. He saw Dudley and those boys he'd been with looking around and ducked to the opposite side of the small crowd. It looked like Dudley had gotten himself a new gang. Harry couldn't say he was happy that his cousin was making friends so fast.

He followed the giant man down a steep slope along with the rest of the students, and was told to choose a boat. He looked around worriedly, not wanting to get stuck with Dudley. There was a boat with only three people in it: a redheaded girl, a chubby boy with brown hair, and a dark boy with a snooty air about him. Harry quickly picked this boat, sitting down with his back to the water and keeping an eye out for Dudley.

"Hello," the girl said, "I'm Susan. What's your name?"

"Harry," Harry said after a moment, surprised that she had spoken to him. She offered her hand and he took it, feeling a little confused. He couldn't help but think of a boy who'd made friends with him back in primary school, mostly to spite Dudley and his gang. After a week, the boy had come back from recess with a black eye and hadn't spoken to Harry ever again. He hoped this girl wouldn't meet the same fate.

"Harry?" the dark boy asked, momentarily roused out of his pretentious silence. "You mean, like Harry Potter?"

"Yes…" Harry said carefully, not liking where this was heading. "I suppose you met my cousin then?"

"Your…what?" The boy seemed bewildered. "My name is Blaise. Why would I have met your cousin?"

"Well," Harry began, but then the boats pushed forward and the brown haired boy fell into his lap.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, settling back in his seat and sounding positively mortified. "I wasn't expecting the boats to move!"

"It's fine," Harry said, fixing his glasses. They'd nearly dropped into the water when the boy had fallen on him. Harry was feeling confident compared to this shaking, nervous boy. "What's your name?"

"N-neville Longbottom," he stuttered. "And I really am sorry."

Harry nodded and everyone was quiet for a few moments, before Susan broke the silence with a question.

"What house do you think you'll be in?"

Harry looked at her and realized she was asking them all. Blaise gave an elegant snort and said, "Slytherin, of course."

She looked expectantly at Harry and Neville, who muttered with a sidelong glance at Blaise that he was hoping for Gryffindor, but who knew, really. Harry had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't want to seem stupid in front of his boatmates.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Harry asked, feigning thoughtfulness.

"All my family's been in Hufflepuff for generations," she said proudly. "So that's what I'm hoping for."

Harry nodded wisely and tried to think of something to say when Blaise spoke up.

"I'm in a boat with a future Hufflepuff and a future Gryffindor. How did that happen?" He didn't sound contemptuous, not really, but there was something in his voice that made Harry wonder what was wrong with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. These two seemed perfectly nice, although Susan seemed a bit insulted at his tone and Neville had shrunk down in his seat and was now staring at his shoes.

Harry spent the rest of the boat trip staring up at the beautiful castle they were headed toward. He hadn't even noticed it at first, having been too busy avoiding Dudley to even look in the right direction. Now, though, he couldn't take his eyes off the sight.

_I'm going to learn magic in that castle,_ Harry thought, and the balloon returned, expanding until he felt he didn't need the boat; he could float the rest of the way to Hogwarts.

* * *

"Harry Potter."

"_Harry Potter?!_ The Harry Potter? Is that him? D'you see his scar?"

People were standing up to look at him as he walked up to the stool to be sorted. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the Hat, but inside he was bewildered beyond expression. They hadn't reacted that way for anyone else. Dudley had gone up there, been sorted into Gryffindor (Harry thought he could understand Blaise's contempt now) and the only sound that had been made was the applause. After he'd been sorted. No one had asked if it was "_The _Dudley Dursley". No one had particularly cared. He'd just been another first year, as had the rest of the first years. Why were they so impressed with Harry? He wasn't anyone particularly special. He'd been a nobody at his last school. He sat on the stool and let the hat slip over his eyes, still pondering this curiosity.

"_Well, well. What have we here._"

Harry nearly, _nearly_ jumped. He managed to stay still and not show any outward sign of surprise, a skill that had saved his hide on more than one occasion with the Dursleys.

_Hello?_ he thought tentatively. Someone chuckled inside his head. _Who are you?_

"_I'm the Sorting Hat, here to sort you._"

Harry relaxed. This was supposed to happen. Okay then.

_Sort away then,_ he thought cautiously. Another chuckle.

"_Alright then, lets see what we've got here. Courage, oh my, yes…not a bad mind, either. Loyalty…and a thirst, to prove yourself…_"

_Well? _Harry thought hopefully.

"_Where should I put you?_"

The thought of being stuck in Dudley's house crossed his mind. He remembered what Professor McGonagall had said, about houses being family. He'd had enough of being Dudley's family, and he thought he'd quite like a new one.

"_Not Gryffindor, eh? Well, no problems there. You'd have done fine there, but you're really more of a…_"

"Slytherin!"

Harry sagged with relief and stood, noting in satisfaction that the whispers had stopped. No one was even clapping. He walked to his table and sank down into an empty seat next to a blonde boy who'd been sorted in under two seconds. It was at this point that he realized that everyone was staring at him in apparent shock.

Harry shifted uneasily, wondering what he'd done now.

* * *

Harry sat on his bed in the Slytherin first year dorms, marveling at the fact that he had a bed. He'd never had a bed before. He bounced a bit, trying not to grin too broadly, and thought about what had happened at the Welcoming Feast.

After the initial silence that had followed his sorting, the table he was already sitting at seemed to realize what had just happened, and very suddenly exploded in cheers. Scores of older students had come over to shake his hand, and he had barely contained his shock. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what was going on. Why were they so happy to have him with them? Granted, it was a wonderful change from being constantly sniped at or ignored, but why? He hadn't done anything in particular. He'd hidden in the bathroom for most of the train ride! These people should have had no idea who he was!

The boy next to him, the blond one, had shaken his hand as well and introduced himself as _Draco Malfoy_ in a very superior sort of tone. Harry could hear the italics in his voice. It appeared that he expected Harry to have some sort of reaction to his name. Harry had no idea who he was, but he nodded and smiled and shook the other boy's hand and pretended that there was a reason why everyone knew him and assumed that he knew them, inwardly wondering if he would find a sane person in this school.

The headmaster did not offer him much in the way of reassurance, ending his speech with a shout of, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" and then sitting down in a very satisfied sort of way, as if he'd given some very good advice. Harry had tried very hard not to look confused, figuring it was a wizard thing, as some people had laughed at the other tables, and even the Slytherins he was sitting with didn't look too surprised.

Dudley's gang had all been sorted together, to Harry's displeasure. Gryffindors, the lot of them. _Draco Malfoy_ mentioned that the Gryffindors were a bunch of goody two shoes, and Harry snorted in disbelief, wondering how anyone could think his cousin anything but a fat pig.

He said as much to him, and was surprised by the grins he got from just about everyone seated around him. An older boy, Marcus Flint, began pointing out the teachers to the first years, telling them that they would do well to remember who was who and how best to deal with each teacher.

A lank haired, hooked nosed man was introduced as their Head of House and Potions Professor, Severus Snape. He was staring at his plate in a vaguely threatening manner, and Harry decided to treat this man how he treated Uncle Vernon in a bad mood. Next to him was a man in a purple turban that Flint identified as Professor Quirrel, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry watched curiously as he cut his steak with a butter knife. Then Quirrel turned away from them to talk to the teacher on the other side of him and Harry's head felt like it was being sliced with a knife. His eyes went wide and he nearly dropped his fork, grimacing in pain.

Several people noticed this, and asked what was wrong. Harry waved it off as a headache, which was the honest truth. He stared up at Quirrel, wondering what had caused that sudden flash of pain. It had happened when the professor had turned away. Harry filed that information away in the back of his mind for later.

After the feast, a fifth year prefect took them down to the dungeons, pointing out the way to the library and the potions classroom and telling them to remember the way back to the Great Hall.

Harry resolved to remember as much as he could, and paid close attention as they walked. He reflected once again on the madness of the wizards and witches he had met so far and decided to find the library when he had some time. At the very least, there should be something there about all this information he was expected to know.

The prefect pointed them in the direction of their rooms, which was where Harry was now, sitting on his _bed_, as amazing as that seemed to him. He was sharing with five other boys, including _Draco Malfoy_ and Blaise, and the room was _huge_. They had all introduced themselves and Harry found that he was living with a Theo Nott, a Greg Goyle, and a Vincent Crabbe. And of course, Blaise, who actually had a last name (Zabini), and who could forget _Draco Malfoy_. He was the only boy Harry knew who had italics in his name.

Harry found though, that he wouldn't have cared if one of them had asterisks in their name, because they seemed to have decided he was a friend. Harry'd never had a friend before, unless you count Mr. Black Eye, and he didn't, not really. He admired his new green and silver Slytherin scarf and ties, set them carefully in his trunk with the rest of his things, and lay down on his bed. It was the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept on. And tomorrow he was going to learn magic. He closed his hangings and grinned like a loon. Let them all be crazy, he didn't care. He was going to learn magic, he was going to have friends, and he was going to live in a dungeon, and not even knowing that Dudley was somewhere in the castle with him would spoil this.

* * *


	3. The Learning

* * *

The next morning found Harry up with the sun as usual. He was surprised when he found that, instead of a cot, he was sleeping on a big, comfortable bed.

Then he remembered about Hogwarts and his face split into a broad grin. He jumped out of bed and left the room in search of a shower.

By the time he got back, the Italicized One had risen, but no one else.

"Mornin…" he mumbled with a yawn, hair all mussed up and looking as though he'd like nothing better than to drop back into bed. "Why're you up so bloody early?"

"I always wake up at this time," Harry answered cheerfully. Draco, who had become Draco-without-italics when Harry saw his footsie pajamas with the words, "Tutshill Tornadoes" all over them, winced at his perky voice and stumbled off to the loo.

Harry grinned and left the dorm room, deciding to try and find the library before breakfast.

* * *

It seemed he wasn't the only one interested in finding out about Hogwarts. He'd had a bit of an argument with a Gryffindor girl over a copy of _Hogwarts, a History_. To be honest, the only reason he'd known she was in Gryffindor was by the color of her tie, and he tried to explain this to her as a reason why she should immediately relinquish her death grip on the only copy on the shelf.

She wasn't sympathetic, not even when he explained the apparent lunacy of most of the school. She'd just given him an odd look and tugged harder, and he was tilting precariously on the brink of classifying her as one of the insane. He would have too, if he wasn't fighting just as fiercely for the same book.

Eventually, they came to a truce. Neither of them would check it out from the library, and they would hide it so no one else could either. Then they could both use it, and if they needed it at the same time, they would share it.

Harry thought this a very reasonable truce. The girl, whose name turned out to be Hermione, had given him another odd look when he'd explained it to her, but went along with it for the sake of the reading. Then they realised breakfast was already half over, and rushed off to find the Great Hall.

When they found it, they rushed in together, nodding at each other before setting off to their respective tables. Harry dropped into his seat next to Draco and across from Blaise, and began loading up his plate. He only looked up when he realised he was being stared at again.

"What?" he asked curiously, poking at the pancakes thoughtfully before dishing himself up some eggs instead.

"Where were you before breakfast?" Blaise asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

"Found the library," Harry said casually, wondering if that was all.

"And a Gryffindor?" Draco asked, glancing over his shoulder at the Gryffindor table. Harry followed his eye line and noticed that Hermione was sitting by herself, the other Gryffindors ignoring her in order to stare at Harry as well.

"That's Hermione," Harry said slowly, wondering why everyone seemed so cranky today. "We had a bit of an argument over a book."

"Oh," Draco said, sounding mollified. Harry wasn't even going to try and guess why until he'd read that book. Judging by it's apparent popularity, he thought it might tell him quite a bit about all the things that were confusing him.

On the way to classes, Harry noticed that a lot of people were whispering and pointing at him as he passed. He hoped Dudley hadn't already turned the rest of the school against him, but the whisperers didn't seem hostile. They seemed almost awed, although why Harry couldn't guess. Every time he stepped out of his dormitory, the whispers started, even in Slytherin, although they were much more discreet than the rest of the school and didn't openly point or gawk at him. He desperately wanted to know why everyone was acting like this, but didn't want to seem ignorant to Blaise or Draco. They were his only friends here, and they were both so confident and had a tendency to snub people they thought weren't good enough. Harry didn't want to be one of the 'not good enough'. So as they walked to class, Harry held his head high and pretended that he wasn't royally confused.

Most of his classes didn't use magic the first day. They spent the period going over what was expected of them and such. Harry paid attention, but thought it all rather boring. He wanted to do _magic_.

So when Transfiguration rolled around, and they were given matches and told to turn them into needles, Harry was pleased. At least, until he tried to turn it and realized how difficult it was.

He sat between Draco and Blaise, staring at his match in consternation. It hadn't worked. Blaise was going over the pronunciation very carefully, then practicing the wand movement, before trying them out together. Harry gave this a shot, then tried it on his own match and was delighted when it turned silver and got a bit pointy. Granted, it was still wooden, but if you looked and didn't touch, it looked like a needle.

"Hey, Harry, you did it!" Draco exclaimed, looking down at Harry's work. "How!"

"I did what Blaise was doing," Harry said honestly, not mentioning that his needle wasn't actually a needle.

Draco stared very carefully at Blaise, who had yet to even attempt the transfiguration. He mouthed the words along with the dark boy, and waved his wand when he did. Then Draco turned to his matchstick and tried it all together. He managed to produce a workable needle, although it was still brownish-gold and had a red tip at the end.

"Ugh," Draco said, pushing the needle away in disgust. "That's practically Gryffindor colors."

Harry grinned and tried again, this time turning the wood to metal. When Professor McGonagall came over, Blaise finally made the attempt, doing it perfectly on the first try. She gave them all a nod of approval and awarded Slytherin two points apiece.

* * *

One thing Harry had noticed about his new Slytherin yearmates, was that they all were very rich and just a little bit snobbish about it. And if they weren't rich, they did a very good job pretending they were, and were even more snobbish because of it. Draco and Blaise in particular seemed to enjoy arguing over who had more money, and while Draco wore Tutshill Tornadoes footsie pajamas, they were very _expensive_ _custom made_ Tutshill Tornadoes footsie pajamas. He had told Harry this, correctly interpreting Harry's grin as he climbed into bed, and Harry had nodded, not knowing or caring why Draco like tornadoes so much, or why he felt his pajamas had to cost more than Uncle Vernon's company car.

It did not make him feel any better about his promise to his uncle, though. Harry had to find a way to pay Uncle Vernon back, and he had a feeling that his friends' opinion of him would drop a few notches if they knew about his money problems. As it was, he'd been too busy with schoolwork to even get back to the library and read that book with Hermione-the-Gryffindor. He didn't know how he'd fit a job in with all that.

As the last day of the first week of school rolled around, Harry was getting a bit paranoid. He hadn't heard a word from Dudley all week, and that could only mean bad things for him. Whenever Dudley got quiet, that meant he was trying to find a new way to get to Harry. A week was about right for this, because, as Harry well knew, Dudley was a bit of an idiot and with him, this sort of thing took a lot of time.

He told Draco and Blaise this over lunch that afternoon. The three of them were eating, noses in their Potions books, as Marcus Flint had assured them that although their Head of House clearly favoured his Slytherins, he only did so because most of them came prepared to his class. Knowing how to gain the favor of the right people was a lesson you learned early in Slytherin House.

Harry leaned his book against the milk jug and said, "Blaise, Draco?"

Both looked up from their books questioningly.

"Ah, I'm a bit concerned about…the Gryffindors." Harry knew that appealing to their sense of house rivalry would work best and quickly. "My cousin, well…he's a right prat, and normally he'd have tried something by now. I'm worried what he's planning, and if he'll get his friends in on it too."

"His friends?" Draco asked with an amused smirk. "Harry, you have got to be kidding me."

Harry stared at him, nonplussed. "What d'you mean?" he asked in confusion. "Does he not have any friends or something? Dudley's never had any problems making friends…"

Blaise stared at him, grinning now. "You don't mean to tell me you haven't noticed that your cousin is a pariah."

"Er…" Harry honestly didn't know what to say to that. "You did?"

"Of course we did!" Draco exclaimed, shaking his head at Harry. "You mentioned that you hate him, so of course we're going to keep an eye out and make sure nothing happens!"

Harry was confused but strangely touched. "Well, thanks…but why doesn't he have any friends?"

Blaise grinned. "You don't go around badmouthing the Boy-Who-Lived and expect to make many friends."

Harry nodded, wondering who exactly this 'Boy-Who-Lived' character was, and why on earth Dudley had been stupid enough to say something about him.

Draco stood suddenly, pulling Blaise and Harry with him. "We're going to be late if we don't hurry."

* * *

As Harry followed Blaise to a seat on the Slytherin side of the dungeons where Potions class was held, he glanced at the Gryffindors and noted a few things.

Firstly, Dudley was sitting by himself in the back, and looking very sulky. Secondly, Hermione-the-Gryffindor, while not by herself, was being ignored by her table-mate and had her nose in a book. And thirdly, all the other Gryffindors were staring at him openly.

That was it, Harry decided, avoiding their eyes. He had to find out why. He resolved to visit the library directly after his last class today, which was, quite conveniently, this one.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the door burst open and everyone went very quiet. Professor Snape swept to the front of the room, robes billowing behind him very menacingly. Harry remembered this from the last time he'd met the professor, when he was welcoming the new Slytherin first years to his house and making his beginning of term speech. He'd fixed Harry with the same inscrutable look then as he did now.

Snape took roll, pausing slightly before Harry's name, but not commenting. As soon as he finished with that, he launched into another monologue, and Harry sat up and paid close attention, just like the rest of the Slytherins. When he heard that they wouldn't be doing much 'foolish wand waving' in this class, Harry was slightly disappointed. Then Snape went on to talk about bottling fame, brewing glory, and putting a stopper in death. Harry was cheered; apparently there was quite a bit you could do without that 'foolish wand waving'.

Then Snape gave him that inscrutable look again and snapped out, "Potter! What would you get if you mixed powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?'

Harry was so, _so_ grateful he'd spent lunch revising with Draco and Blaise. "The Draught of Living Death, sir?"

Snape nodded, jaw clenching slightly. "Five points to Slytherin." Then he rounded on the Gryffindors, and said, "Dursley! What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Dudley had started quite badly when his name had been called and stared, wide eyed, at the menacing professor. "I – I dunno."

"You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Professor' at all times, Dursley," Professor Snape sneered. "Now let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to get me a beozar?"

"Uh…a what?" Dudley said, clearly having no idea. "Sir!" he quickly added as Snape's eyes flashed.

Harry had to fight very hard to keep from grinning. He glanced at Blaise, who was sitting next to him, and noticed that his friend had no compunctions about this, and neither did Draco, or Pansy Parkinson, for that matter. She was seated next to Draco and snickering quietly with him, and smirked at Harry when she saw him looking. He allowed himself a small smirk in return before schooling his features to be neutral again and turned back to face the front.

Snape grilled Dudley with a few more questions that Harry was happy to say he knew the answers to. He would have to thank Marcus Flint. Dudley had become increasingly intimidated, until finally Snape seemed to grow tired of it and sneered, "Haven't even cracked the binding on those books, have you Dursley? For your information, there is no difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. A beozar can be found in a goat's stomach, and it will cure you of most poisons. Squonk tears are more commonly used in vanishing potions, and if you don't start showing more promise, you may be wishing for one by the end of term."

He stared around at the rest of the class, who were all watching him raptly, before snapping, "Well? Why aren't you all writing this down?"

There was a sudden scramble for quills and parchment, and Snape continued. "Today you will be attempting a simple potion to cure boils. The directions are on the board. You may begin."

Harry couldn't help but grin. The rest of his classes, aside from Transfiguration, had been spent taking notes and had all been rather boring. Professor Snape just dove right in.

Then he frowned, remembering his decision to keep Dudley's grades up. It looked as though it was going to be harder than he thought, especially if Professor Snape routinely questioned his students like this. He wouldn't buy Dudley having good homework scores if it was clear during class that Dudley had no idea what he was doing.

He'd figure something out. First, though, he needed to find out what was going on. And before he could do that, he had a potion to attempt.

* * *

After class, Harry had begged off chess in the common room, claiming he needed to go to the library. Blaise accepted this with a shrug, and in turn distracted Draco, badgering him to play instead and allowing Harry to make a clean escape.

When he got to the library, he made a beeline for _Hogwarts, a History _where they had hidden it between a wall and a bookshelfonly to find Hermione-the-Gryffindor already there with her nose buried in it.

"Excuse me," Harry said, and she looked up at him, startled.

"Hello," she quietly. "Did you want to use it?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, if you don't mind sharing."

She smiled back and offered him the seat next to hers. "You're a Slytherin you know," she stated matter-of-factly.

He blinked. "Er…and you're a Gryffindor?"

She shook her head. "You know our houses are rivals?"

"So?" he asked. "You haven't done anything to me but steal my book. And you're being nice enough about it."

In truth, the idea of House rivalry had only really come up a few times. He'd heard the upper years going on about Quidditch, which he gathered was a sport of some kind, and he knew they didn't like the Gryffindors because of that. He'd also heard Draco and Blaise talking scathingly about certain Gryffindors, and frankly, Harry could see their point. Especially when the Gryffindors were people like Dudley. But this girl hadn't done anything to prove herself worthy of the Gryffindor that Harry knew, so he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

She smiled at him again, showing off her oversized front teeth, and said, "Okay then." She pushed the book closer to him so he could read along with her, and they spent some time like that until Harry huffed in exasperation.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking up from the book as though she'd forgotten he was there.

"There is nothing in here about what I need to know!" Harry said unhappily. "And here I was fighting with you over a useless book!"

Hermione did not appear happy that Harry was calling her book useless, and raised her eyebrow at him.

"Well, it is useful to know about all the houses," Harry said hastily. "And that you can't Apparate here…whatever that is. But that wasn't what I needed to know!"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "First of all, I read about Apparating. It's like…teleporting."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly. "We can do that?"

She grinned at him and pointed at the book. "Not here."

Harry shook his head and used one of Blaise's favorite words. "Wicked."

She nodded, then looked at him thoughtfully and said, "If you want to learn about something, you just have to find the right book. What do you want to know?"

Harry considered this for a moment, then answered honestly, "Well, for one, I'd like to know why everyone keeps staring at me all the time."

Hermione gawked at him.

"Yes, just like that," Harry said dryly. "But why?"

"You don't…but you have to know why!" she exclaimed. "I've read about you in…so many books! How could you not know?"

"Know what?" he asked weakly. He was in books?

"You're famous!" she said, the she jumped up from her seat suddenly and nearly ran over to one of the shelves. She stared at it for a moment before pulling no less than five books out and bringing them back to him.

Harry sifted through them dumbly. "I'm not in all these," he said disbelievingly as she grabbed one and began flipping through it. "Why would I be famous? I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Oh, but Harry, you did!" she said earnestly, finding the page she was looking for and shoving it under his nose. "Read that!"

Harry looked down at the page with some curiosity and read:

_The Dark Lord You-Know-Who (see previous chapter) brought dark times to the wizarding world. For years the wizarding population of Great Britain lived in fear and terror. His downfall was celebrated widely when, on October 31, 1981, the infant Harry Potter, now more commonly known as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived', defeated You-Know-Who. Little is known about how he was able to do this. He was found in the rubble of his home at Godric's Hollow, where he and his parents, Lily and James Potter, had been in hiding for some time before being betrayed to You-Know-Who by the spy, Sirius Black, who was incarcerated in Azkaban the very next day. Lily and James Potter were found dead, unable to survive the killing curse unlike their extraordinary son, and so the Boy-Who-Lived was sent to live at an unknown location, possibly with close relatives. Little has been heard from him since._

Harry stared at it in shock. "My parents were murdered," he said softly.

Hermione paused in searching the second book for him and gazed at him sympathetically.

"I…they told me my parents died in a car crash!" He remembered what Blaise had said earlier that day. _You don't badmouth the Boy-Who-Lived_. The Boy-Who-Lived. That was what Harry was supposed to be. He had lived and his parents hadn't. That was why they were all staring at him and whispering about him, and that was why everyone expected him to know things. And if they did, why had the Dursleys lied to him?

Harry snorted. That was a stupid question. Why would they have told him? The better question was: Why hadn't he found all this out sooner?

Hermione offered him the next book silently, and Harry continued reading about himself. Every book she put in front of him, he read, and he learned what the wizarding world thought about him. And when the library closed, he checked out several of the books, smuggled them back to his dorm, and read through the night.

* * *


	4. The Enlightening

* * *

Harry woke late the next morning, thankful for weekends. He eyed the books stacked on his nightstand with slight irritation, then stuffed them all in the drawer and got dressed. Now that he knew what he was to the wizarding world, he had a better idea of where he stood.

What he'd found out was shocking, and had completely altered his perception of…well, his whole life. His parents had been young when they'd had him, barely out of Hogwarts (where they'd both been Gryffindors). His mother was muggleborn, known before her marriage as Lily Evans, and she had been good at Charms and Potions. His father was a pureblood and good at Transfiguration. They had been members of the Order of the Phoenix, an independent organization that fought alongside the Ministry against You-Know-Who.

When they had Harry, they immediately went into hiding, apparently afraid for the safety of their small family. For a year and a half, not a peep had been heard from them, and the war went on. But on Halloween of 1981, You-Know-Who (whose name Harry still didn't know, as none of the books had it actually written down) had somehow found them and cast the Killing Curse on Harry's parents, before trying and failing to cast the same curse on him. Somehow it had backfired, he had disappeared, and Harry was hailed as a hero, never mind the fact he was only a year old when it happened.

His parents had also had a best friend named Sirius Black, who had been blamed for their discovery. From what Harry had read in the books, another of their friends, Peter Pettigrew, had tracked him down before being blown to bits along with twelve muggles in a crowded street by an insane Black, who then went to Azkaban. He'd been there ever since.

Harry had read all this with some disbelief, unable to comprehend that his early years were filled with so much drama. He noted a few things he needed to find out about, he was particularly wondering what Azkaban was (He was thinking prison, but wasn't sure. It could have been a mental hospital). He also wanted to find out more about this You-Know-Who. And these were only the main things. He thought again of asking Draco or Blaise, but the sight of them, sitting in the common room with Pansy, Vince and Greg, laughing and bragging about their particular family's wealth and prestige, threw him off and he put that idea away as a last resort.

Instead, he found himself returning to the library, intending to devote himself to a day of research. He was hoping Hermione would be there. She had probably already done most of this and would be able to either tell him about it, or at least point him in the right direction. He wasn't nearly as good at this research thing as she was.

Unfortunately, this plan was cut short three corridors away from the library. Harry had been distracted by his new knowledge, and over a week of silence had made him slightly complacent. So he wasn't expecting it when he was suddenly shoved into a suit of armor and knocked to the floor.

Harry looked up, disoriented but not surprised as he heard Dudley's churlish laughter. "I don't know why they all think you're so special. I could beat you up with one hand tied behind my back."

And almost as if to prove it, he held one hand behind his back and used the other one to swipe at Harry, who was on his feet at this point and able to dodge.

"Go back to your common room, Dudley," Harry said, pulling out his wand and wishing he knew a spell. "Unless you were lonely. Did you miss me without any friends?"

Dudley scowled at him. "It's all your fault. You did something to them. All they do is stare at you all the time and ask me about you. You freak," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry kept his wand aimed at Dudley and remembered his plan. "Say, Dudders, are you having problems with your homework?"

Dudley scowled again, automatically it seemed, at the idea of homework. "They actually expect you to do it here," he grunted in confusion. Then his eyes rested on Harry and he advanced threateningly. "I've got a bunch of homework due." He raised his fist and said, "Do it for me and I'll leave you alone."

Harry smiled grimly. They'd made this deal before. "How much and when?" he asked.

Dudley didn't have his bag with him, so Harry told him to go get it and meet him in the library. When he got there, he saw Hermione at a desk by herself in the corner and made a beeline for her.

"I've got questions," he said. "D'you think you could help me?"

She looked up from her book and said, "What did you want to know?"

"Well, what's You-Know-Who's name?" he asked. "It wasn't in any of the books you found for me."

She nodded, looking frustrated. "I know, it's almost like they think it's bad luck to even_ write _it. I can't find it anywhere."

Harry sighed in defeat. "I guess that'll be something to ask Draco and Blaise then."

She glanced at him again. "Your friends?"

Harry nodded, grinning slightly at the idea that he had friends. "Yeah. I really didn't want to ask them, you know, but if it's not here then I suppose I'll have to."

Hermione nodded and asked, "Anything else?"

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "Azkaban and Quidditch."

She smiled slightly shaking her head. "Complete opposites. Azkaban is the wizard prison. The guards are really creepy, I'll show you a picture later. And Quidditch is a sport, kind of like football, only nothing like it."

Harry nodded, then paused and shook his head. "Wait, what?"

"Well, there are four balls…hang on." She jumped up from her seat and disappeared into the shelves, returning a moment later with a well worn book entitled, _Quidditch through the Ages_.

They sat for a bit, Hermione lecturing about what she had learned while Harry skimmed the book, nodding and occasionally asking a few questions. Then, Hermione suddenly got very quiet and Harry looked up and around, wondering what had caused the change.

Dudley stood next to their table, holding his bag out and saying, "Most of it's due next week, I think."

Hermione looked at Harry, scandalized. "You aren't doing his homework for him?!"

Harry grimaced. "Well, he's my cousin," he said feebly. He couldn't really explain his reasons to her, nor did he want to.

"Oh, but you can't! That's cheating!" She fixed Dudley with a stern glare. "How could you even ask him to do that? You'll be lucky if I don't report you, Dudley Dursley!"

Dudley cracked his knuckles threateningly. "If you report me, I'll -"

"Dudley," Harry said, standing suddenly. "Things aren't the same here as they are at our old school. If you even try it, I'll give you a tail."

Dudley snorted. "We haven't learned that in any of our classes."

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You actually pay attention?"

Dudley looked away, fat cheeks reddening. "I wanna learn magic, like the Great Humberto."

Hermione stood, eyeing Dudley thoughtfully. "You know he's fake, right?"

Dudley frowned and said, "But this is real, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded and said, "But if you actually want to know magic, having Harry do your homework for you isn't going to help."

"But I don't want to do it!" Dudley whined, making Harry grimace and wish he knew a spell to shut his cousin up. "It's hard and boring! I want to do real magic!"

"Well you won't be able to unless you know all this stuff first. I'll," she hesitated, then caught Harry's eye for a moment before offering, "I'll tutor you if you want."

Dudley snorted and said, "But you're a loser!"

Harry and Hermione both just looked at him for a moment, before he remembered his own lack of friends. "Oh…well okay then."

"Alright," Hermione said briskly, smiling at Harry as he gave her a look of pure gratitude, "First things first, you're going to get started on that homework."

* * *

"Hey, Draco?"

Harry, Blaise and Draco were sitting in the common room in front of the fire that night. Theo, Vince and Greg had already gone to bed, and Harry and Draco were waiting for Blaise to finish up a last round of exploding snap with Pansy.

"What?"

"Er, you know how I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?" he asked, hoping he wasn't making an arse of himself.

Draco grinned. "Yeah, and it's good to hear you actually acknowledge it. I wasn't sure if you really knew, from the way you were acting."

Harry fought a blush furiously, mentally smacking himself, and soldiered on. "Well, you know that 'You-Know-Who' guy that I supposedly defeated?"

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean the Dark Lord?"

Harry nodded, relived at this slightly less ridiculous title. "D'you know what his actual name was? No one will tell me." And of course, what he meant by that was that none of the authors of the books he'd read would write it down, and Hermione didn't know. But Draco didn't have to hear about all that.

"People don't like saying his name, Harry," Draco said carefully. Harry rolled his eyes. He'd figured that one out on his own already, thanks.

"Could you just say it once?" Harry asked, filled with curiosity. "I'd never ask again, I just kind of wanted to know the name of this person I supposedly defeated."

Draco shook his head. "He wasn't just a person, though. He was really powerful and he was going to give the wizarding world back to the purebloods."

Harry really didn't care about all the details. He just wanted a name. "But why are you so afraid to say it, Draco? He's not even around anymore!"

"I'm not afraid!" Draco scowled. Then he lowered his voice and glanced around furtively, before leaning in toward Harry and muttering, "_Voldemort_."

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment. "Pardon?" he asked.

Draco frowned at him. "You heard me," he said. "I'm not saying it again."

"Then that _was_ actually the name?" Harry asked in all seriousness. "I thought you coughed in the middle of it or something. Sorry. Voldemort, okay."

Draco could only stare at him, having flinched a bit when Harry repeated it. "You're not supposed to say it, you prat. Why do you think I didn't want to?"

Harry privately thought Draco didn't want to say it for the same reason that Harry had spent his first night in the Slytherin dorms thinking of his friend as _Draco Malfoy_, the Italicized One, but once again, he kept this to himself.

"Sorry," Harry said absently. "I won't do it again."

"Sure," Draco said, and then Blaise interrupted them, crowing with delight as Pansy made her way up the stairs, covered in SnapSap, smelling like a dead rodent and grumbling darkly at them. Blaise waved cheerfully at her, and she made a very unladylike gesture at him that had all three of them laughing as they went off to bed.

* * *

"Voldemort," Harry said proudly.

He and Hermione were in the library, which was almost empty aside from them, what with it being Sunday and all. Harry had come here, certain that he would find her, and had been proven right when he found her at what was quickly becoming her 'usual' spot. The only surprise so far was that Dudley was there too.

Hermione had him set up across from her, working on an essay for Transfiguration. He didn't look happy.

"Hermione," he whined, throwing his quill down in exasperation. "I don't get it!"

She tugged on his parchment and examined it. "That's because you can't do that. It's impossible. Can you tell me why?"

Dudley stared at her for a moment, then looked down at the book and his parchment. "The…bits aren't right?"

Hermione nodded. "The elements aren't compatible. You have to change one of them before you can combine them like you're trying to. Now," she said, turning to Harry and raising her eyebrow. "What was that you just said?"

"Voldemort," Harry repeated, feeling uncommonly proud of himself. "That's You-Know-Who's real name."

"Voldemort," Hermione mused. "That doesn't sound like a real name at all. I mean, who would name their child Voldemort?"

"Maybe that's why he became a Dark Lord?" Harry quipped. When Hermione fixed him with a 'that's not funny' look, he stopped grinning and said, "Sorry, fine, I won't joke about it. But if you don't think that's his real name, then what is it?"

"How would I know?" Hermione asked with a shake of her head. "You had to get your _friends_ to tell you his name, I couldn't even do that." She did not seem happy with this idea. Harry thought back to potions class, and how the other students had been ignoring Hermione, and began to wonder if Dudley wasn't the only pariah in Gryffindor.

Harry suppressed this train of thought as Hermione began going on about various ways they might be able to get this information. They spent an hour or so discussing it, occasionally helping Dudley, who only seemed to understand when someone else walked him through the problem. Harry was starting to feel hungry, though, so after a while he said goodbye and left the library.

Harry nearly shot out of his skin when Draco appeared suddenly at the door and pulled him down the hall.

"Harry," he hissed, "What are you doing hanging out with them? They're Gryffindors and mudbloods!"

Harry had no idea what that last word meant, and he said so.

"It means…well it means they're muggleborn! They've got dirty blood!"

Harry frowned at this; the way Draco had said it made it sound like an insult. "My mother was a muggleborn! And Dudley's my cousin!"

"You don't like him anyway!" Draco said, brushing aside Harry's parentage. "You said he was a fat pig! And who was that girl?"

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "She's really smart, she's tutoring Dudley for me so I don't have to do his homework."

Draco frowned, distracted. "Why would you do his homework?"

Harry sighed. "Uncle Vernon wouldn't like it if I did well and Dudley failed, so to keep the peace, Dudley needs to do well. Hermione's helping with that."

Draco frowned, trying to understand this. Eventually he shrugged and said, "Harry, just choose your friends wisely, okay?"

Harry grinned. "I chose you and Blaise and the rest of the Slytherins, didn't I?"

Draco bestowed a smile on him. "You did, didn't you? What was I thinking? You have great taste!" They both laughed, then Draco glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Just don't make me hang out with them, okay?"

Harry mock-sighed and promised, "I'd never dream of it, Draco. Now I was going to lunch before you showed up, so…" he trailed off meaningfully. Draco rolled his eyes at Harry and pulled him off down the corridor to the Great Hall.

* * *

Classes flew by, until one day, Blaise found a sign on the notice board announcing that the first years would be having flying lessons. Draco and Blaise both moaned over the fact that they had it with the Gryffindors, but it seemed to Harry that this was more out of obligation than anything; they were too excited about flying to really care.

As the first lesson neared, Draco began regaling them all with stories about all the times he'd gone flying. Harry was highly amused to note that most of these ended with him narrowly escaping muggles in helicopters. He, Blaise and Pansy listened to these stories mostly for the entertainment value, until Blaise finally broke and began telling his own outlandish flying tales. Harry and Pansy shared quite a few laughs over some of the more ridiculous stories, and Pansy warned Harry that she would have to kill him if he joined in.

"You're the only sane one left, Harry," she'd said one day on the way to Transfiguration, when even Theo had joined in on the fun and told them all a long, twisty tale involving a muggle telephone booth, a magic carpet, and several hippogriff. "Of all the first years, in all the houses, you and I are the only sane ones left. Please don't leave me, I couldn't bear it. _I'd_ become homicidal and then _you'd_ become the Boy-Who-Was-Pushed-Off-The-Astronomy-Tower."

Harry had laughed and told her he'd never flown before anyway, so if he was to start telling stories about it, he'd be lying through his teeth.

"And they're not?" Pansy asked, nodding at a red-headed Gryffindor boy who was going on at length about nearly hitting a hang glider on his brother's broom.

Harry just shrugged and laughed again, and Pansy forced Draco and Blaise to go away and let her partner with Harry that lesson.

* * *

"Hermione, please, we both already read the book!" Harry said, trying to fend off his overenthusiastic friend. "You were there when I read it, remember? You've told us this already!"

Hermione, Harry and Dudley were sitting together in the library, and Hermione had foregone homework _again_ in favor of reading flying tips out of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to them for the twentieth time. Harry could practically recite it with her by now.

"But Harry, Dudley might not know, and I'm quite nervous about all this flying business," Hermione said anxiously.

"You've read them to him too, you know," Harry reasoned. "And I'm sure you'll be fine, Hermione. You always worry, and you're always fine afterward."

Hermione looked the tiniest bit reassured. Then Dudley spoke up. "I don't think I can do it."

"What, fly?" Hermione asked, turning to him and preparing to start reciting her tips again.

Harry personally was very curious if the broom would actually be able to lift Dudley's weight off the ground, and it was in part for this reason that he was happy that Gryffindor and Slytherin were taking the class together.

And then Hermione began her recitation again, with Dudley paying close, almost frantic attention, and Harry said goodbye, reflecting that Pansy was exactly right and they were the only two left.

* * *

_A/N: To explain some things. Most people said they thought Dudley should be in Hufflepuff or Slytherin. This is my reasoning on his being a Gryffindor. First of all, when has Dudley ever been a hard worker? Or loyal? And the most ambition the boy has ever had was to catch Harry and beat him up (which he generally failed at unless his friends helped), and he's a druggie in the fifth book. That doesn't take too much ambition, or even cunning. The boy is a bit of an idiot. I cite Cormac McLaggen as proof that people like him and Dudley will be Gryffindors. _


	5. The Flying

* * *

The morning of the first year Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lessons dawned bright and brisk. Harry and Pansy had not been able to fend off Draco and Blaise when the two boys realized Harry had never flown before.

They sat on either side of him, giving him one tip after another, as Pansy sat across from them and attempted to look sympathetic. It wasn't working very well, Harry noted as she utterly failed to hide her snickers behind a muffin as Blaise attempted to show Harry how to properly grip a broom, using a sausage as an example.

"D'you get it, Harry?" Blaise was saying as he tried to force Harry to hold the sausage. "Here, give it a try."

Pansy hid her face in her hands and giggled helplessly.

"It's alright, Blaise, I think I've got it down," Harry said, pushing the sausage away carefully. Blaise shrugged and took a bite out of it instead.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked from his other side. "Do you remember what I told you about how to go faster and slower?"

"Yes, Draco," Harry answered, shooting a warning glare at Pansy, who was waiting eagerly for him to say it. "I remember. It's in the hips." Pansy snickered uncontrollably, and Harry glared at her again. "I'm sure the teacher will tell us all of this, you know."

"But you should know it all beforehand, Harry. You don't want to look like you don't know what you're doing," Blaise said reasonably, ignoring Pansy's hopeful offer of more sausage.

Harry grinned and said, "But I don't know what I'm doing."

"You will if we tell you." Draco informed him. "And besides, you shouldn't let other people know when you have a disadvantage." He turned up his nose and said, "It's not very Slytherin."

Harry figured, what with the way he'd not asked them about the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' thing, that he was already acting Slytherin enough, but once again, they didn't need to know that.

"Alright, fine," Harry said, taking a bite of his eggs. "But lets have a break now and eat. If you try to tell me any more, I don't think I could bear it."

Pansy laughed and said, "Astronomy Tower!"

"Exactly," Harry grinned, saluting her with his goblet. Blaise and Draco looked between the two of them, confused.

"You had to be there," Harry explained, and they nodded and went back to their food, still discussing the lessons.

* * *

"Alright, everyone stand by a broom, go on then."

Harry and his friends quickly picked the best brooms, and Harry grinned at Hermione, who stood across from him. She looked as though she quite liked the idea of keeping her feet on solid ground. Dudley stood next to her, and appeared to be having similar thoughts.

In fact, Harry noted at least one or two other Gryffindors that didn't look at all eager to be standing next to a broom today.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," Blaise whispered, clearly having noticed the same thing. "I mean, look at Longbottom."

He pointed discreetly at a round faced boy a few brooms down from Hermione, who looked to be quaking in his shoes. Harry cast his mind back and recalled that this was the boy who'd melted his cauldron on the first day.

"Pitiful," Draco whispered from Blaise's other side. Blaise nodded in agreement and Harry shrugged.

"Now, stick your hand out above your broom and say, 'up!'"

"Up!" Harry and everyone else in the class yelled. Harry was pleased when his broom jumped immediately into his hand. Across from him, Hermione's broom had given a sort of lazy shudder and rolled over. Dudley's broom hadn't moved.

"Here, Harry, remember what I showed you at breakfast?" Blaise asked, demonstrating his grip on the broom. Harry grinned at the sausage-related memory and mimicked his grip.

"Up!" Hermione demanded, and finally her broom shot up into her grasp, nearly knocking her off her feet. Dudley had given up long ago and had simply reached down and picked it up.

Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, was now walking around, correcting people's grips. When she reached Draco, she adjusted his hands and said, "No, hold your hands a bit closer together."

"I've been doing it like this just fine for years," Draco informed her in what Harry had come to think of as his 'snooty pureblood' voice, purposely moving his hands back.

"Well then you've been doing it wrong for years, lad." Madam Hooch recorrected his grip once more and moved on.

Draco fumed at her departing back and gripped his broom _his way_ again, hard enough to make the thing start twitching in his grasp. "I do it just fine, you old hag," he muttered darkly as Blaise and Harry nodded loyally. Vince and Greg grunted in agreement as well, and Pansy just snickered quietly.

Then Hooch was telling them to take off at her whistle, rise a few feet above the ground, land again, and so on.

"Three, two, one…"

Longbottom, who apparently had hearing problems, took off before the whistle even touched the teacher's lips. He rose rapidly with a shout of alarm, almost thirty feet in the air, before his broom seemingly bucked him off and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Harry winced. That had to have hurt.

Madam Hooch rushed forward, leaning over the boy before helping him up and setting off toward the castle. As she led him away, she called over her shoulder, "All of your feet are to stay firmly on the ground. If I find out that any of you was riding a broom, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch!"

Draco waited until she was out of sight before mounting his broom. Blaise copied him and said, "Harry, come on! We'll show you a few moves before she gets back."

Harry was torn. "But we'll be in trouble. You know the Gryffindors will tell on us."

Draco considered this, then yelled, "Hey, Weasley!"

A red headed boy ambled over and gave him a look. "What do you want?"

Draco smirked at him and examined his fingernails. "Bet you can't do a Sloth Grip Roll."

Weasley seemed incensed. "Of course I can!"

"Bet you I can do it better than you, then."

Weasley turned slightly red and mounted his broom as well. "We'll see about that!"

"Ron, no!" Hermione said, marching over when she saw Ron about to take off. "You'll get in trouble!"

He gave her a condescending sort of look before turning back to Draco. "You don't tell, we don't tell."

Draco nodded curtly, and they both took off into the air.

Blaise nudged Harry with a smirk. "What was that about the Gryffindors?"

Harry still felt a little torn, and Hermione wasn't helping.

"Harry, you'll be in terrible trouble," she said sternly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Harry, who looked between the two. "Just a few seconds, Hermione?" he asked. "I promise I won't go very high."

Hermione kept her stern face for a few more moments, but Harry's pleading doe eyes soon won her over. She sighed and said, "I saw nothing."

"Of course you didn't," Pansy said, pulling her away from the boys. "We were discussing Charms. All the way over here. We couldn't possibly have noticed a thing."

She pulled a slightly bemused Hermione toward the group that had followed Hooch toward the castle. They were milling about a few meters away from the doors, waiting for her to come back.

"Harry, come on!" Draco yelled from the sky. Blaise had already taken off too. Harry sighed and mounted the broom like they'd shown him before pushing off and soaring into the sky.

It was the most amazing thing ever. Blaise whooped and Weasley nearly fell off his broom as Harry came to an abrupt halt smack between him and Draco.

"This is great!" Harry yelled enthusiastically. Draco grinned at him.

"Told you!"

"Harry!" Blaise yelled, flying closer. "Are you sure you've never been on a broom before?"

"Never!" Harry shouted back, racing through the sky around them with ease. "Must be all that brilliant advice you two gave me!"

"Look!" Draco called, pointing at something shiny on the ground. "What d'you think that is?"

Harry, still caught up in the heady rush that he'd felt upon takeoff, immediately dove toward it amidst a chorus of surprised shouts from his two friends and Weasley.

"Harry, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Blaise hollered after him, but Harry was too focused on the shiny object to care. He neared the ground and pulled up hard on his broom, skimming the grass with his toes, before bending down and snatching it up from the grass. He landed and found that Draco, Blaise and Weasley were flying toward him, so he waited patiently, examining his prize. It was a small glass ball.

When they landed, he held it up and asked, "What d'you think it is?"

All three boys were staring at him, silent. Weasley's mouth was hanging open.

Harry was feeling a bit uncomfortable. "What?" he asked.

"You lied to us, didn't you?" Blaise asked, sounding hurt.

"Lied to you?" Harry repeated, confused. Why did Blaise think he'd lied to them?

"You said you've never flown before!" Draco said accusingly.

"Well I haven't!" Harry was slightly baffled. "That was the first time I'd ever been on a broom!"

Weasley snorted, and Blaise glared at the intruding Gryffindor disdainfully. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, only to snap it shut again and pale slightly. Before Harry could turn around to see what had shocked his friend so, a voice spoke behind him.

"That was quite the performance, Mr. Potter."

Harry froze. It was Professor Snape. He turned around to face the professor with a sinking feeling in his chest. He was going to be expelled and have to go back to the Dursleys and Dudley would come home every summer and taunt him and probably use magic on him and turn him into a frog and…

"Mr. Potter, have you heard a word I've said?"

Harry started; he'd been so caught up in imagining his dismal future that he hadn't even heard the professor speak.

"I'm sorry sir," he stuttered, looking up at the professor unhappily. Professor Snape had a slightly irritated, yet calculating look on his face.

"I asked you if that was your first time on a broom."

Harry nodded dumbly, aware of Draco and Blaise's worried presence at his back, along with that Gryffindor that had been with them.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter. I will deal with you three later."

As Professor Snape turned on his heel and swept away, Harry turned back to his friends and received two worried, apologetic looks in reply. He waved helplessly at them and noted that Weasley looked rather green at the prospect of being 'dealt with' later.

* * *

Professor Snape led him into the school, walking rapidly. Harry had to nearly run to keep up with him.

"You will have detention for a week," Snape said suddenly. Harry started, thoughts of expulsion exploding like confetti.

"I…I'm not being expelled, sir?" Harry asked hopefully.

Snape snorted. "It wouldn't be very Slytherin of me to expel you at this point."

Harry blinked, wondering how on earth Snape had gotten that idea into his head. Not that Harry was complaining, of course.

"You are to understand that what you did was a direct violation of rules, Potter," Snape said, leading him down into the dungeons. Harry nodded quickly, before realizing Snape couldn't see him.

"Yes, sir."

"You are in no way above the rules, is that understood? You are just another student at this school, and you will be treated as such. If I find that you are getting a big head, I may rethink your punishment."

"Yes, sir." Harry couldn't imagine ever getting a big head. You had to be good at something to be arrogant about it.

"Having said that," Professor Snape turned to face him suddenly, just outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "You will now be playing as a reserve on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Incitatus."

The wall slid open and Snape led him inside, saying, "Flint!"

Marcus Flint rose from the table he'd been sitting at and strode over.

"Yes sir?" he asked, eyeing Harry curiously. Harry kept eye contact. He knew him well enough, and he was going to be one of his reserve players. He wanted to see Marcus' face when he found out.

"Potter is to be on the reserve team. Test him out for the different spots. Seeker especially."

Marcus looked at him again, suddenly much more interested in the little first year. "Yes sir. Next practice?"

"Why don't I write you a pass for the field tonight?" Snape suggested with a smirk.

Marcus grinned and said, "That would be perfect, sir."

Professor Snape pulled out a quill and parchment and scribbled something down, rolling it up and sealing it before handing it to Marcus.

"Enjoy," he said shortly, before disappearing.

Marcus turned his attention back to Harry, who was remembering precisely what a Seeker was. He sized Harry up, walking in a circle around him, before nodding and saying, "Snape's right, you're a Seeker. Let's hope you live up to his expectations."

"Expectations?" Harry asked curiously. Marcus nodded.

"Snape must think you're really good if he put you on reserve in first year," Marcus explained, leading Harry back to the table he'd been sitting at. "Especially since it's you."

Now Harry was bewildered. "What does me being me have to do with it?" he asked.

"Well, you're the Boy-Who-Lived and all," Marcus said absently, pulling out some kind of roster and adding Harry's name to it. "Everyone else favors you because of it. He wouldn't want to look like a starstruck git."

"Oh, right." Harry had nearly forgotten about that.

"So clearly, we're having practice tonight. You'll use one of the extra Slytherin brooms. The school brooms are rubbish. I've got to go tell the rest of the team. Welcome aboard."

And with that, Marcus disappeared through the common room entrance.

Harry sank down into one of the chairs by the fire and tried to calm down. He'd thought he was going to be expelled, and instead he was on the Quidditch team. Reserve, yes, but still.

Wow.

Draco and Blaise tore into the common room at that point, spotting him by the fire and rushing over.

"Harry, are you alright?" Blaise asked worriedly. Draco stood behind him, awaiting Harry's answer anxiously. "Did Professor Snape really expel you?"

Harry looked up at them, standing by his chair, out of their minds with worry. He smiled.

"No, I'm not expelled."

Draco practically fell into his chair with relief. "Thank god," he sighed. "How did he punish you then?"

"I've got a week of detentions," Harry said slowly, watching them carefully.

Blaise winced. "Tough," he said sympathetically.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Wanna play chess?"

"Sure," Harry said, suppressing a grin. "But I can only hang around with you guys until seven."

"Detention?" Draco asked, pulling a chess set out of the side table.

"Nah, just Quidditch practice."

Draco dropped the chess set.

"What?!"

"What are you talking about?"

Harry finally allowed himself to grin. "I've got a week of detention, and I'm a reserve on the Quidditch team. Seeker, I think."

Blaise and Draco stared at him in awe.

"You're kidding!" Blaise accused, grinning like a mad man.

"Nope, not kidding. We've got practice tonight. I don't know what I'll be doing, but you guys can come if you want."

"This is too bloody awesome," Blaise said with a whoop. "You're on the Quidditch team! Brilliant!"

Draco laughed and punched Harry on the arm. "And you just let us sit there, thinking you'd gotten in huge trouble! Harry, you're such a prat!"

Harry laughed with him, and helped Draco pick up all the chess pieces, who were making it quite clear that they hadn't appreciated being dropped at all.

Harry, Draco, and Blaise spent the remaining time until Harry's practice alternating between losing at chess (Harry) and casually mentioning Harry's new position on the team when passing Slytherins could hear them (Draco and Blaise). Harry couldn't stop smiling, and Draco and Blaise grinned whenever they looked at him. Harry could already tell he was going to love Quidditch.

* * *

_\_


	6. The Employment

* * *

Harry was on his hands and knees in the Entrance Hall, scrubbing the floor while Filch stood over him and grumbled. He didn't know why he wasn't pickling slugs like Draco had suggested Snape might make him. He had been told instead that all of his detentions would be served with Filch, and he didn't think he had much of a right to complain, especially after being put on the Quidditch team instead of being expelled like he'd expected.

And it wasn't like he was a stranger to this sort of work. In fact, it was eerily reminiscent of his life at the Dursleys, especially because of Dudley, who had found out about his detentions before they even started, and usually found some excuse to get muddy and stomp around in the finished areas and ruin all of Harry's hard work. It was almost creepily nostalgic.

"Bloody maggots," Filch muttered, watching as Harry scrubbed. "Filthy, the lot of you, stomping around like you owned the place, no respect, none at all."

Harry's sense of deja vu grew as he was forcibly reminded of Aunt Petunia's constant complaints about him.

"Mud on the floor, frog's brains on the ceilings...serves you brats right to have to clean up after yourselves every once in a while...Merlin knows I haven't the time..."

Harry paused. Filch had given him an idea.

"Mr. Filch, sir?" Harry asked, pausing in his cleaning to turn and address the old caretaker. Filch glared at him, looking rather appalled at being addressed in the middle of a rant. Harry continued before Filch decided to threaten him with the racks like he had during Harry's first detention. "I was wondering...you sounded like you'd appreciate some help outside of detentions, and I kind of need some money to...pay for going here..."

Filch's dusty old eyebrows went up in surprised bewilderment. Harry rushed to explain his proposition before he was rejected outright.

"I just thought that maybe you could give me a job, you know, helping you?" Harry asked tentatively. "I'm good at cleaning and general upkeep and stuff, I promise it'd be worth it, sir."

Filch stared down at him in consternation for several minutes, and Harry began to fidget, certain he was about to be threatened with thumbscrews and told to get back to work.

"You say you need the money?" Filch asked, his face a picture of confusion. Harry nodded. Filch considered him for a few more seconds, then shrugged and said, "Not my business. You want t'earn your keep, who am I to stop you?"

Harry grinned. "So you'll take me on, then?"

"I'll give you a trial period during your last three detentions," he said gruffly. "If you pass scruff, we'll talk about you gettin' a job."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Filch," Harry said earnestly. "You won't regret this, I promise."

And with that, Harry returned to his scrubbing with renewed vigour and a certain peace of mind that he hadn't had since he'd learned he would have to pay for school on his own. He could make this work. He really could.

Harry and Filch had a decent work schedule set up within the next week. Harry worked from seven to nine on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, and from two to five on weekends. He even got exceptions for days when he had Quidditch, and Filch said (in a strange pique of geniality that Harry thought might have come from having a willing worker and a future with more leisure time) that he'd deal with any detentions Harry might (inevitably) get by taking it on himself and simply not paying Harry that night. Harry did the math and figured out that, at the three galleons an hour they'd agreed upon, he'd be making about 1,632 galleons a year, which was around 8,160 pounds, which he thought should definitely satisfy his uncle, possibly even with some left over.

If not, he could always get a summer job.

* * *

Harry was plodding tiredly back to the Slytherin dorms after work. He'd just finished cleaning the third floor and he was exhausted. He'd had an early Quidditch practice that day, and he still had two essays to write for Potions and Transfiguration.

Most nights weren't this bad. It was only very rarely that Harry had both work and Quidditch practice on the same night, and normally he was able to finish his homework before Quidditch with Hermione's help, as she was always willing to lend him a hand.

Unfortunately, she'd had her hands full with Harry's cousin. Dudley just didn't understand the Transfiguration essay, no matter how hard Hermione tried to explain it to him. He'd even resorted to his old tactic of bullying Harry into giving him the answers, when Hermione wasn't looking. Unluckily for him, Blaise was with Harry at the time, and now Dudley had the problem of a Jelly-Legs jinx to add to his confusion, and once Hermione found out why he had been jinxed, she refused to help him reverse it.

"He got himself into this mess by being a bullying prat," she'd said. "He can get himself out of it."

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, delegating essays and bullying prats to the back of his mind while he tried to think up a suitable excuse for his absence. He hadn't told any of his friends about his job. He knew Draco and Blaise would scoff and telling Hermione meant telling Dudley, and as much as it would be a good thing for Uncle Vernon to have news that Harry was earning the money, Harry also knew this meant that the rest of the school would know as well. He wasn't keen on being looked down upon by the rest of Slytherin, so here he was, thinking up an alibi.

He couldn't very well tell them he'd been with Hermione (an excuse that had worked before), because if he had, he wouldn't have any essays to write. He couldn't say Quidditch had run long (an excuse that had never worked) because they would have to hear about it from the other team members to believe that. He'd used the detention excuse far too often for Flint's peace of mind, and his captain had already pulled him aside and told him he'd have to shape up if he wanted to be on the starting team next year.

What Harry needed was another friend, one that wouldn't mind Harry using them as an alibi. Harry had a feeling that, however well he and Filch got along these days, his friends probably wouldn't be very happy to hear Harry claim to have spent his missing hours having tea or something equally inane in Filch's office. Frankly, they wouldn't believe him, and even if they did, well, it was _Filch_! They wouldn't be happy anyways.

What Harry needed, then, was a believable friend, someone outside of Slytherin, who could be trusted to not ask questions and be a suitable alibi for when Harry was working. He decided to keep an eye out for someone like that, possibly a Gryffindor, as he already had ties to them. Maybe a Ravenclaw. He shuddered as he imagined the look on Draco's face at the idea of Harry having a Hufflepuff friend, then shrugged it off. If the right person happened to be in Hufflepuff, it would just ensure that Draco and Blaise didn't want to tag along when Harry went to 'hang out with his new friend.' He knew they might not be appreciative, but they had already proven that they wouldn't stop being friends with him for something like this.

Nor would they stop being his friend because he was poor, Harry knew. But they would look down on him, maybe even pity him, and he didn't want friends who pitied him.

* * *

"Hey, Anthony Goldstein, right?"

"Yes, I am Anthony," He glanced up from his book for a second and nodded. "To whom, may I ask, am I speaking?"

Harry smiled a bit and said, "My name is Harry Potter."

Anthony actually set his book down this time. "Hello. And what brings you to my little corner of the library, Harry Potter?"

Harry shifted slightly. "Call me Harry. I see you in here all the time, and you seemed nice enough, so I thought I'd say hello."

"Ah! I understand. Hello, Harry. How are you on this lovely autumn afternoon?"

"Er, fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm doing quite well, actually."

"Well, uhm, that's great."

Harry scratched his arm and watched as Anthony went back to his book.

"So, er, can I sit down?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Anthony started slightly, as though he'd forgotten Harry was there, and gave him a small smile. "Of course! Sit, sit, please."

Anthony nodded at Harry when he sat, and then went back to his book.

"Erm, Anthony?" Harry asked. Anthony sighed regretfully, marked his place, and closed the book.

"You're one of those talkative types, aren't you?" he asked, staring sadly at his book.

Harry's eyebrows went up. He wasn't, not really.

Anthony saw his look and immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Harry. You seem like quite an interesting person, and I'm quite positive I'd like to pick your brain later, but this is a fascinating book."

Harry nodded in comprehension. He'd known when he approached Anthony that he was a Hermione-type, albeit a bit more absent minded. It was exactly the reason he'd approached him.

"Sorry. I guess you'd like to get back to it then?" Anthony nodded gratefully. "Well then I'll make it short. Do you want to be friends?"

"Friends?" Anthony asked, slightly bemused. "Hmmm...I suppose. What kind of things would we have to do?"

"Well," Harry said. "I suppose we could study together sometimes. I promise I'll be quiet. You won't even notice I'm there."

Anthony nodded, and opened his book again. "Okay. I can do that. I'm sure there are also a few Slytherin reasons you have for approaching me, which I'll be hearing about later. As long as you don't hurt any of my books."

Harry blinked, then reminded himself that this was a Ravenclaw he was speaking to, not an idiot. "Right then, erm...bye!"

Anthony waved him off absently, and Harry grinned as he walked away.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked him as he returned to her table. Dudley appeared to be having some kind of fit across the table; his hands were covering his mouth and he was shaking wildly.

"Made a new friend," Harry said happily. "What's with Dudley?"

"He understands Charms," Hermione said fondly. "Some of it, anyway."

Harry nodded in understanding. He thought he could faintly hear Dudley's joyful sniggers through his fat hands. "Congratulations, Dudley," he said proudly.

Dudley took his hands away from his mouth and picked up his wand. "Watch, Harry!"

He swished and flicked, enunciating clearly. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The book on the table in front of him hovered a few feet in the air.

Harry smiled uncertainly. "That's great, Dudley..." he glanced at Hermione and whispered, "Didn't we learn that last month?"

Hermione smiled. "He's known how to do it since then, too, haven't you Dudley?" Dudley nodded proudly and made the book go higher. "It's just the one he's best at. Show him something else, Dudley. Show him the one I taught you yesterday."

Dudley looked a little uncertain, but let the tome drop and nodded. Hermione pulled out a small book with a little lock on it.

"Hermione, do you have a diary?" Harry asked in amusement. The book was pink and had flowers all over the cover.

Hermione sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. This is Lavender's."

Harry's jaw dropped as Dudley said, "Alohomora!" and the lock clicked open. Dudley looked up for Harry's reaction and saw the shocked look on his face. He swelled with pride. "Pretty brilliant, eh?" he asked happily.

Harry nodded, looking at Hermione accusingly. She only reddened a little bit. "It's not like I'm reading it," she said defensively.

Harry shook his head and grinned. "Some noble Gryffindor you are, Hermione."

"It must be your terrible Slytherin influence that's turned me," Hermione replied dryly, as Dudley locked the book and did the spell again.

They laughed and applauded Dudley when he looked up to see what was so funny.

* * *

"Where were you, Harry?" Draco asked as Harry stepped into the common room after work. "You missed Daphne and Pansy's huge fight!"

Harry frowned and answered, "Anthony and I were hanging out. What happened?"

"Pansy called Daphne a dirty wench because Daphne broke some bottle of perfume or something." Blaise answered with a grin. "All I really saw was the yelling and the hexing. It was pretty wicked."

"Wow," Harry responded, dropping down onto the couch. "Sounds it."

"Yeah, Daphne's in the hospital wing now. Pansy's spell went wrong and they're trying to figure out what she did."

"Wow," Harry repeated monotonously. "This is almost as interesting as Halloween." Someone had let a troll in at Halloween, and they'd all been ushered back to their dormitories after a professor fainted in the Great Hall over it.

"Harry, are you being sarcastic?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"No, just tired," Harry said with his eyes closed. He'd cleaned half the fifth floor tonight. "Anthony wanted to try something out he found in one of his books."

"That boy is so strange," Draco told him disapprovingly. "Why do you hang out with him?"

"He's actually kind of interesting when you can get him to talk normally," Harry said truthfully. He'd talked to Anthony quite a lot since they'd become 'friends', and Anthony really was quite interesting. He also knew that Harry had to have his 'Slytherin webs', as he called Harry's secret job, and as such, didn't bother trying to poke his nose in and backed Harry up when he said they'd been hanging out.

"You smell like lemons," Blaise said, wrinkling his nose. Harry winced slightly. That would be Mrs. Skowers Lemony Fresh Magical Mess Remover. Harry inwardly cursed Blaise and his keen sense of smell, while outwardly shrugging.

"It was a strange spell he wanted to try out," Harry explained. "It required lemons."

The portrait over the fireplace snorted at him. Blaise looked for a moment as though he was going to question Harry further, but Draco cut in. "Like I said, Harry. He's weird. I mean, lemons? Really!"

"He's not that bad, Draco," Harry said firmly. "And I promise you don't have to hang out with him. Now," he continued, standing up. "I'm going to take a shower. I don't fancy smelling like lemons all day tomorrow."

Draco and Blaise waved him off, leaning their heads together to whisper about something. Harry waved to Vince and Greg as he passed, and they nodded in return, busy with their card game.

"Go Fish! …wait, never mind."

'_Strange spell requiring lemons,_' Harry thought incredulously to himself as he made his way to the showers. '_I am such an idiot. I cannot believe they bought that._'

* * *

Harry sat with Hermione and Dudley in the library, trying to work on a Defense essay. 'Trying' being the key word. It just wasn't working. Eventually he gave up and threw his quill down in exasperation.

"What's wrong Harry?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book. "Normally it's Dudley who gives up first."

"I dunno," Harry said irritably. "I just really don't like Defense."

Hermione put her book down and looked at him curiously. "Why not?"

"I always get a headache in that class!" Harry complained. "And Quirrel stutters so much that even if I felt fine, I'd have trouble."

Hermione frowned at him. "Do you get headaches often?" she asked in concern.

"Seems like it's only during Defense," Harry answered. "And then when class is over, I have to borrow Blaise's notes if I want to know what went on."

"Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione told him. "Tell her what you told me. Maybe she can make it better."

Harry nodded. "In the meantime, can you help me with this?"

Hermione nodded and he handed her his essay so that she could check over what little he'd done so far.

"Here's your first problem..."

* * *


	7. The Presents

Filch had told Harry to clean part of the third floor that night, and had spent most of the time he was supposed to be telling Harry what to clean complaining about children. Harry couldn't help but be slightly amused, to be honest. What had Filch expected, working at a school?

Harry had worked his way down the hall and had nearly finished, when looked up and saw the door to the forbidden part of the third floor. He stared at it curiously for a moment, and took his rag and cleaned the doorknob thoughtfully.

Why was it forbidden? What could possibly take up an entire corridor? Why would it be in the school in the first place, if it was so dangerous that Dumbledore felt the need to forbid everyone from going near it? Harry had heard some of the upper years talking about certain classes having to be relocated because of the new rule. He wondered what could be so important that the teachers would be willing to move around, just to accommodate it. Harry wiped down the wood panelling on the door, and he could feel his curiosity beginning to eat at him.

What if he took a peek? Just a little one. This was a school, it couldn't be anything _too_ dangerous, right? Filch would never know. No one would. Harry put his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath.

It was locked. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and tried to remember the locking charm Hermione had taught Dudley. Alohomora? Harry nodded. That was it. He remembered Dudley whispering it giddily at him as Harry tried to do his Transfiguration homework.

He glanced around. No one was in sight. "Alohomora," he whispered, and the door clicked. Harry placed his hand on the knob and took a deep breath.

He opened the door a crack and peered around it. He stared for a few moments. Then he closed the door very, _very_ carefully, locked it securely, and made his way back to the Slytherin common room. He was done for the night anyway.

* * *

Harry entered the common room very quietly. He saw Draco and Pansy sitting in chairs near the fire, and walked over to them.

"Draco," Harry whispered. Draco was reading a book, but he set it down when Harry sat down next to him.

Draco looked at him for a moment, and responded just as quietly. "Yes, Harry?"

"It may just be because I'm new to this whole magic thing, but is there really such a thing as a three headed dog?"

Pansy heard him, and frowned. "Of course there is! My uncle breeds them, they're called Cerberus. They're guard dogs, very useful, haven't you heard of them, Harry?"

"I've heard of them in myths," Harry said, "But I didn't know they actually existed. Is there any reason why one would be at Hogwarts?"

"What?" Draco and Pansy asked in unison, sitting up and looking at him with equal parts surprise and intrigue.

"Is there?" Draco asked in shock. "You'd think we'd see one running around, wouldn't you?"

Pansy had been watching Harry's face as Draco spoke, though, and she figured it out faster than he could say it. "That's why the third floor is forbidden, isn't it?"

Draco gaped. Harry nodded. "I saw it, just now," he said. "It was a bit of a shock."

"Well I can imagine," Pansy said sympathetically. "I got to see a few when I visited my uncle in Cyprus a few years ago, but he made sure to sing to them first, just in case. What were you doing, going in there anyway? It _is_ still in there, right? It hasn't broken out or anything?"

She and Draco both looked suddenly very worried, and Harry rushed to reassure them.

"No, no, it's still there, I was just curious, so I took a look. And…it's a Cerberus, alright."

"Wow," Pansy said, frowning down at the book in her lap. "Wonder what it's guarding."

Harry frowned too, and tried to relax as Draco and Pansy read quietly. The dog was guarding something, then. Pansy didn't appear to be thinking about it anymore, but Harry wanted to know now. Curiosity had made him open the door, and even though it was probably none of his business, curiosity would nag at him until he found out what the dog was guarding. That was just how Harry's mind worked.

* * *

Christmas was coming soon, Harry realized one day. The castle was beginning to look festive and decorated, and snow had long since blanketed the grounds. Draco had begun dropping hints about how _he_ wanted this for Christmas, and what did Harry want? Hermione had asked him what his favourite colour was the other day, and Harry got quite a shock when Dudley marched right up to him before lunch, dropped all pretences, and simply asked Harry what he wanted for Christmas.

Apparently he was getting presents this year.

It was a nice feeling, even better since Hermione had told him about owl-ordering, so he could buy everyone else something as well. He'd decided that taking a little bit out of his tuition fund couldn't hurt in the long run, and had even decided to buy Filch something too, just because.

Despite all this, knowing that he was probably getting gifts did not prepare him in the slightest for Christmas morning, when he woke up to find his feet nearly buried by all the presents at the foot of his bed.

Harry stared at his presents in surprise until Blaise, who had also just woken up, glanced over at his dazed state and threw a pillow at his head.

"Presents, Harry! Wake up!" And with that he grabbed one of his own packages and tore into it.

Harry picked up one of his presents and opened it. It was from Draco, a new pair of shoes. He looked over at Draco in the next bed, who had just unwrapped something small and expensive looking.

"Shoes?" he asked, holding them up for Draco to see. Draco grinned.

"Do you like them? I bought you some other stuff too, don't worry. It's not all shoes."

Harry thanked him bemusedly and reached for another present.

It was from Dudley, he'd bought Harry a book on magical pranks. In his letter he told Harry that he'd written his parents that Harry was being really helpful and that he and Harry had become friends. Harry could expect a present from them. He also warned Harry not to use anything in the book on him, because Hermione had promised that she'd teach Dudley all of it too.

Harry looked for the present from the Dursleys. It actually didn't look like an old pair of socks. Harry opened the note on top first, and read,

_Dudley told me that you're helping him in school. Your aunt wanted to get rid of some of the rubbish in the attic, so we're sending it to you. Happy Christmas._

_From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. _

Underneath the note was a short stack of pictures, some of which looked badly crumpled. Harry smoothed them out and noted that they were all of the same red-headed girl, at different ages, and that the girl had bright green eyes, just like him.

He looked them over for a moment, slightly confused, and it suddenly hit him. These were pictures of his mother.

Harry had never seen a picture of his mother. The Dursleys didn't keep them out in the open where Harry could find them. Apparently they'd changed their minds. Harry flipped through the pictures. Most of them were from before she would have gotten her Hogwarts letter. There was one though, of a fifteen year old Lily, grinning mischievously at the camera and holding a teacup, and another of her at seventeen, posing with two people who looked like they might have been her parents. Harry's grandparents.

Harry remained absorbed in his pictures until Blaise and Draco looked over and realized he was neglecting his presents. They'd each gone through more than half of theirs already, and their piles were much bigger than Harry's.

"What're those, Harry?" Blaise asked, jumping off his bed to look. "Why don't they move?"

"They're muggle pictures, of course," Draco said, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Who of?"

"My mother," Harry said softly. Draco and Blaise looked at each other over Harry's head, then back at his pictures.

"She's pretty," Blaise said respectfully.

Harry nodded and set them carefully on his bedside table. Draco looked like he wanted to ask something, but kept quiet and instead shoved another present at Harry.

"This one's from me too," Draco said. "Go on, open it!"

It was a Kenmore Kestrels poster. Harry smiled and shook his head. He'd only claimed to like them to make Draco indignant.

"Thanks, Draco, it's great," he said, and at Blaise and Draco's urging, he went back to opening presents. The dorm was empty aside from the three of them. Blaise and Draco were taking advantage of it by exclaiming loudly over all of their presents and tossing things back and forth over his head.

Harry unwrapped a book from Hermione, and wondered if she would appreciate the diary he had bought her. It had a complicated lock on it, and he'd added a note: _So that you don't have to resort to petty theft._

Blaise had bought him several Quidditch books, and Pansy gave him a huge pile of candy with a note that informed him that he was too skinny. Anthony had gotten him a book of archaic spells and potions that used various fruits as a base. Harry decided he should never have told Anthony about his excuse for smelling like Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover.

This left one more present, a very light one that he opened to reveal a fluid, silvery gray material. Harry held it up and examined it.

"Wonder who sent me this, " he said curiously. Draco glanced over and gaped when he saw what Harry was holding.

"Who sent you _that?_" he asked, bounding off of his bed and over to Harry's, squishing Harry's new shoes as he sat. He reached out carefully and took a piece of it between his fingers.

"I don't know," Harry responded, now looking for a note. "What is it?"

"It's an Invisibility Cloak!" Draco said in awe. Blaise's head snapped up from his presents, and his jaw dropped.

"Wicked!" he said, and came over to Harry's bed to admire his new gift. "Who gave it to you?"

Harry held up the note that he'd just found in the folds of the cloak.

"It was my father's," he read. "It doesn't say who sent it, but they say it was my father's…"

Harry looked at the cloak with new eyes.

"Well go on, try it on!" Draco said in excitement. Harry stood and wrapped the cloak around himself.

"You're gone!" Blaise said suddenly, and Harry looked down. It was true. He had completely disappeared.

"Wow," Draco said, looking at the spot where Harry had been last. "Harry, could I borrow it sometime?"

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure he wanted to share this just yet. It had been his fathers, after all, and he didn't really have anything from him. Not even a picture, like the ones the Dursley's had sent of his mother.

"Maybe," Harry said evasively. He took the cloak off and folded it neatly into his trunk, and tried to turn his mind back to his other presents.

* * *

Later, they went down to the common room, where Pansy was waiting to compare presents with them.

"Thanks for the new perfume, Harry," Pansy said. "I suppose I can forgive you now for abandoning me." Pansy was still slightly miffed that Harry had joined the Quidditch team. When she had first found out, she had told him very sadly to come with her, and it wasn't until they got to the base of the Astronomy Tower that Harry realized what she was planning. Draco and Blaise had laughed hysterically when he came running back to the common room and explained in a panic what she'd tried, and even though she'd insisted ever since that it had been a joke, the result of it all was that Harry never went anywhere alone with Pansy again, especially after Quidditch matches or practices, even though he only really got to fly during the practices.

"You're welcome, Pansy," Harry said. "Thanks for the candy."

"Hey," Blaise suggested. "Maybe Pansy's given up on throwing you to your death and she's decided to poison you instead."

Harry's head shot up in alarm to look at Pansy, who was now glaring at Blaise.

"Quiet, Blaise, you'll ruin it!" she hissed, glancing innocently at Harry. Draco, Blaise and Pansy all cracked up, and Harry mock-glared at them.

"When you lot are finished plotting my death, I'll be at breakfast," he said, ignoring Blaise's amused offer to taste test all of Harry's candy for him as he left the common room.

They all joined him a few seconds later, and compared presents some more as they walked up to the Great Hall.

* * *

Later that night, after an enormous Christmas feast and the Slytherin Christmas party, Harry lay in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. He closed his curtains, lit his wand, and pulled out the pictures of his mother. He stared down at them for a short while before crawling over to his trunk and pulling out the Invisibility Cloak. Pictures of his mother and something his father had _owned_, had actually touched himself, had probably used often. These were better Christmas presents than anything he could imagine. He looked at the note that had come with the cloak again. _Use it well_, it said, just before it wished him a Merry Christmas and left the gift giver anonymous.

_Use it well._ Harry could do that. He put out his wand and wrapped the cloak around him. He glanced over his shoulder at Blaise and Draco, sleeping soundly in their beds, and wondered if he should bring one of them with him before dismissing the idea. He wanted the first time he used his father's cloak to be special. He didn't want to share. He slipped silently out of Slytherin and wondered where to go. He decided eventually to just explore the castle and see what he could find.

He climbed a few staircases and wandered down a few corridors, just generally getting lost, before he came upon a door that was ajar. He stopped when he heard voices coming from inside. Harry would never deny being nosy. He identified the voice that was speaking now as Professor Quirrel, the stutter was a dead giveaway.

"D-don't know wh-what you're talking about, Severus…"

"Just answer the question, Quirrell."

Harry's eyes widened. It was Snape. Quirrell was mumbling something.

"I know what you're planning, Quirrell, and if you think Dumbledore will let you endanger his students and steal from him, you will find that disappointment and Dementors are harsh mistresses."

"That's r-ridiculous, Severus, I have n-no intention of endangering any of the ch-chidren or st-stealing the stone."

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape said menacingly. Harry shivered. He'd heard enough. He made his way as quickly and quietly as possible back to the Slytherin dorms and collapsed on his bed, mind racing.

Snape thought Quirrell was trying to steal something? Harry remembered the Cerberus and put two and two together. The dog was guarding a stone that must belong to Dumbledore. Quirrell wanted to steal it, and Snape wanted to stop him. Snape had mentioned Quirrell's endangering children. Harry rubbed his forehead absently, and remembered the horrible headaches he got whenever he was in DADA. Could that have something to do with it? He was the only one that he knew of that got headaches like that. He would have to talk to Hermione and maybe Draco about this. He stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering what could be so important about a stone that Quirrell would try to steal it and Snape would try so fiercely to protect it. Maybe it was a diamond, or a ruby or something? Maybe it was magical, and that was why it was so important. Maybe it did something special. As he finally drifted off to sleep, he resolved to ask Hermione if she'd read about any magical stones that Dumbledore might have.

* * *


	8. The Mirror

* * *

"You snuck out last night?" Blaise repeated, impressed. Draco was preparing to lay down several cards and ignored them.

"That's not the point, it's what I heard, pay attention!" Harry said, snatching the cards out of Draco's hand only to have them explode on him. Draco snickered.

"So you snuck out last night," Blaise repeated. "What did you hear, then?"

Draco was finally paying attention, so Harry began his story. When he finished, they both had their brows furrowed thoughtfully.

"So obviously," Draco began after a moment, "Quirrell wants to steal this stone, which is of course what that Cerberus you saw is guarding, and Snape wants to stop him."

"Right," Harry said, pleased that Draco had come to the same conclusion as him about the dog.

"And endangering children," Blaise mused. "Do you think Quirrell is causing your DADA headaches on purpose?"

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "That's possible…"

They all sat quietly for a minute, thinking.

"I've got it!" Draco said suddenly. Harry and Blaise looked up at his eager tone. "Wait, listen! Alright, so Quirrell is working for the Dark Lord but never took the Mark, and he sees Harry here and also knows about whatever this stone is because he's a teacher, and he decides to harass Harry with headaches because he figures that when the Dark Lord returns it'll get him brownie points, and he's trying to steal this stone because…well because he wants it, right? So he figures he'll get all this done this year, but Snape gets suspicious, because he used to be a Death Eater, so he might even know about Quirrell, and that's why he said he knew what Quirrell was planning!"

Blaise and Harry stared at him for a moment.

"…That's a bit out there," Blaise said finally.

"And what do you mean, '_when_ the Dark Lord returns'?" Harry asked. "What's to say he has to return?"

Draco flushed slightly. "Sorry Harry…I just…well, he was really powerful, and most people don't think he really even died, so I mean, what's to say that he's not going to come back? If he's not dead he has to come back eventually, doesn't he? And besides, I meant that from Quirrell's point of view. He probably thinks the Dark Lord is going to return."

"I certainly hope not, for Harry's sake," Blaise said pointedly. Draco flushed again.

"I said sorry," he muttered. Harry bit his lip and nodded.

"So anyway," Blaise said. "That was a really wild tale, Draco, but I suppose it's got possibilities."

Harry was thinking back to some of the books he'd read about himself, and remembered that one of them had mentioned Death Eaters as being Voldemort's followers.

"So Snape was a Death Eater?" Harry asked, unsure if he should be surprised or not. Snape was very intimidating, and after hearing the tone he'd used on Quirrell, Harry thought he might believe Snape capable of anything.

"Yeah, he was," Draco said. "But Dumbledore got him out of going to Azkaban because he said Snape had been spying for him."

"Not everyone can plead Imperius," Blaise smirked. Draco sneered at him. Harry frowned, feeling out of the loop, but let it slide.

"So I suppose my argument that Dumbledore wouldn't hire Quirrell if he'd been a Death Eater doesn't matter then," Harry decided.

"Well, no," Draco agreed. "And besides, the idea in my version of events is that Dumbledore doesn't know Quirrell was a Death Eater. The only reason Snape got hired is because he was a spy, probably."

Harry and Blaise nodded thoughtfully. This idea had merit.

* * *

"That's a paranoid conspiracy theory!" Hermione laughed.

Harry frowned at her. He had just told her what happened last night, and what Draco and Blaise's take on it had been. He'd been expecting a certain degree of reaction from her, and this just wasn't it.

"Well it's true that Snape was a spy, and it's true that he thinks Quirrell was trying to steal the stone thing, and endanger me. Why couldn't the rest be true?"

"Because, Harry, it's wild speculation," Hermione explained. "You can't assume that just because Quirrell is trying to steal something, and just because Snape accuses him of attempting to endanger _children_, by the way, not you in particular, that this makes him a Death Eater with an evil plot to give you annoying headaches and bring Voldemort back to power! Stealing and hurting people doesn't always make you a Death Eater. Just a bad person."

Harry nodded grudgingly. She did have a point. He leaned across the table (they were in the library, of course) and asked, "So what's your take on it then? What was Snape talking about, and how is Quirrell endangering children?"

Hermione's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Well the endangering children bit could have been about the troll on Halloween…Quirrell could have let it in accidentally - "

"Or on purpose," Harry muttered.

"Or on purpose, yes," Hermione said benevolently. "And that's what that was all about. He did mention fighting a few once before, but he fainted on Halloween. But Harry, for all we know, Snape could be indulging in mad conspiracy theories himself. He could be completely wrong about Quirrell trying to steal this stone. And what the stone is is important too. If it was just some stupid valuable stone, clearly it's just greed. And if it's magical, which is much more likely, then what it does could be the key to figuring out what Quirrell wants with it, whether he's…" she paused, injecting her voice with as much scepticism as she could so that Harry knew for certain that she wouldn't believe it without further evidence, "…a Death Eater, or just, once again, greedy. Or something else altogether."

Harry nodded again. Another good point.

"What we should do then," he said, "Is try to figure out what it could be. I think it's Dumbledore's and it's more than likely something magical."

"I'll look into it, if you want me to," Hermione said helpfully. Harry smiled. "After all, _I_ actually have all my homework finished, Harry." Harry stopped smiling. "Oh, and by the way, you shouldn't be sneaking out at night, it's terribly irresponsible! What if you'd run across Filch or Mrs. Norris? What if Snape had caught you? Be more careful!"

Harry knew that Filch would let him off easy if he caught him, and Mrs. Norris liked Harry because Filch did. The idea of having been caught by Snape, the ex-Death Eater though, sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"Alright, I'll be careful…"

* * *

The only way he could practice being careful while sneaking around at night with his Cloak, Harry decided, would be to sneak around at night with his Cloak more often. Or so he reasoned as he slipped out of the dorm for the second night in a row, Cloak wrapped tightly around him.

He thought he would do as he'd done last night. Wandering aimlessly certainly had proved it's merits before, and he was very willing to try again. He thought it might be fun to get hopelessly lost and then try to find his way back. He'd debated bringing Draco or Blaise again tonight, but decided against it again. He wanted to get a feel for his father's Cloak before he went off letting just _anyone_ use it. It was still too new, too special.

Harry wandered in and out of rooms whose doors hadn't been closed properly, and after accidentally finding a passageway behind a tapestry, now checked every one of them. He found several, and after going up and down several hidden staircases that skipped who knew how many floors each, found himself at his goal: hopelessly lost.

Harry wondered which way he should go to find his way back. To his left was a staircase, but it only went up. That would not get him back to the dungeons. To his right was a corridor with a suit of armor and a door ajar. Harry decided to take a peek inside and see what he'd find. Sometimes they were just classrooms, but sometimes he found something interesting, like the room that reflected the sky, just like the Great Hall only smaller, and the room filled with old boxes, which he'd stopped poking through when he found a box filled with spiders. He didn't fancy finding something that bit even harder.

This room appeared to be a classroom, although it wasn't in use. All the tables and chairs were pushed aside to make way for a mirror. A rather large mirror.

Harry walked toward it, interested. None of the rooms he'd been in so far had had a mirror. He wanted to see what he looked like, invisible as he was. He noted a strange inscription across the top in a language he didn't recognise.

He looked in the mirror, and got the shock of his life. He could see himself. Not only that, he could see a whole group of people behind him! He looked down at himself and noted that he was still quite invisible, and looked behind himself to note that, to his eye, the room was empty. When he reached out, he touched nothing, even though there were so many people that they couldn't possibly have avoided his reach. Then he looked back at the mirror and got another shock as he recognised the woman standing at his shoulder.

"Mum?" he whispered. He looked at the man at his other shoulder. He looked a lot like Harry, but older. "Dad?"

Harry took a few steps closer and stared up at them. Looking at the rest of the group, he realized that they all looked like him, somewhat.

Harry spent the rest of the night with his family.

* * *

"Look, do you see them?"

Blaise shook his head. "I only see us, standing here."

Harry had decided to bring Blaise and Draco back with him tonight to show them his family. Draco had refused to wake up, though, so he and Blaise went by themselves.

Harry looked himself. It was just him and Blaise, standing in front of the mirror in their pyjamas. His heart sank. Maybe it only worked once?

"Hang on," Harry said, taking the cloak off of both of them and stepping away from the mirror to set it on a chair. Blaise gasped and stared at the mirror.

"It's changed," he said. Harry looked at it. He couldn't see anything different.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you see them?"

Blaise turned a bit red. "No, it's something else…" He tore his gaze away from whatever was so interesting in the mirror and looked at the inscription. "Erised…"

Harry looked at it too. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi. _

"That's ridiculous," Blaise said after a moment. "That's not a language at all. No language that uses our alphabet has all of those words in it. It doesn't even look runic."

"So what are you saying?" Harry asked. "It's gibberish?"

"No, I said it's _not_ a language…I think…it is! It's spelled backward. That _is_ ridiculous."

Harry frowned up at it. Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire…

"'Arts desire' is the only part that makes any sense now," Harry said in confusion.

"No, it's 'Heart's desire', the words aren't separated properly," Blaise said distractedly. "It says 'I show not…your face, but your heart's desire'!"

He abruptly blushed again, and looked back into the mirror.

Harry's eyes widened. This made sense. He'd been thinking it was a mirror that showed you all your family or something.

"Cool…can I see mine again?"

Blaise didn't miss the eager tone in Harry's voice. He pulled his own gaze away from the mirror and said, "I don't know, Harry…"

Harry frowned, almost angry. "Why not?"

Blaise shook his head. "This is dangerous, especially with the way you're reacting to it."

Harry blinked. "You mean, my being able to see my family is _dangerous_?" He actually did feel kind of angry now. "Just get out of the way, Blaise. I want to see them again."

"Harry," he said, standing firmly in between Harry and the mirror. "It's showing you want you want to see."

"Yes, 'Heart's desire', I got that. So?"

Blaise sighed. "If there's one thing you should learn from being in Slytherin, Harry, it's to never trust something or someone that gives you exactly what you want, but doesn't ask anything in return. This is definitely dangerous."

Harry sighed. That did sound reasonable. But he didn't want to be reasonable; he just wanted to see his parents again.

"Harry, promise you won't come back here, especially without me or Draco. It really isn't safe."

Harry looked back at the mirror with longing in his eyes. Blaise stepped in front of the mirror again and said, "Harry, _promise._"

"Can't I see them just once more?" Harry pleaded.

Blaise frowned, but gave in eventually. "Fine. Just once. But _only_ if you promise."

Harry promised. Blaise sighed and stepped out of the way, and there they were. Harry stared at them again, memorizing every inch of his parent's faces in particular. Then Blaise was pulling him away and Harry had to put the Cloak back on and leave.

* * *

Harry was very tired the next day, having spent most of the past seventy two hours awake. Draco sulked when he found out what they'd done the night before, especially when Blaise teased him about sleeping as heavily as Vince and Greg. He had agreed with Blaise, though, about Harry's not going back to that mirror.

"You're just lucky we don't have classes for another week or so," Pansy said, looking down her nose at Harry in disapproval. Harry was sprawled out on the couch next to Pansy, half dead to the world and watching Blaise and Draco play chess. It suddenly occurred to him through his stupor that Blaise, Draco _and _Pansy had all stayed over break. The castle had otherwise pretty much emptied out. At the Christmas feast, there hadn't been enough people in the entire Hall to fill up the Slytherin tables, let alone all the rest. Hermione had stayed too, although Dudley had gone home, after inviting Harry along with him. Harry assumed it would be a much happier Christmas all around if he stayed at school and had refused, but he had to wonder why his three Slytherin friends (and Hermione) hadn't gone home as well.

He wanted to ask them, but he thought he might have fallen asleep, because the next thing he remembered was Pansy telling him it was time to go to lunch, even though he knew they'd only just decided to skip breakfast. He trailed groggily behind her and sat down gratefully when she pushed him into his seat. Blaise took one look at Harry and started filling up his plate for him.

"Harry," Draco said, waving a hand in front of Harry's face. Harry yawned at it. Draco dipped his hand in his goblet and flicked the liquid in Harry's face.

"Stop't Draco," Harry muttered in irritation, waving his hand half-heartedly.

He heard a conversation going on around him, but couldn't be bothered to listen until someone poured what felt like a bit of ice-cold water down the back of his robes.

His eyes flew wide open and he yelped in surprise, but it was drowned out by Blaise and Draco's laughter.

"I didn't mean for you to actually _do it_, Pansy!" Blaise was saying through his snickers. Harry turned and glared at Pansy, who shrugged.

"You needed to wake up," she said reasonably.

"She's right, you know," Blaise said. "I think Dumbledore wants to talk to you. He's been looking at you all through lunch."

Harry looked up at the staff table. It was true, Dumbledore was looking at him. When he made eye contact, Dumbledore nodded at him. Harry looked back at Blaise, flummoxed.

"What did I do?"

"Well you were practically sleeping on your plate, Harry," Blaise said, smirking.

"Or maybe he knows what you two were doing last night," Draco added with a slight pout.

"He doesn't look stern enough for you to be in trouble," Pansy pointed out. "Eat your lunch and don't worry about it."

Blaise turned out to be right. Once Harry had finished his plate, Dumbledore stood and swept over to them.

"If you would come with me, Mr. Potter? I'd like a word in my office."

Harry nodded and stood slowly, hoping that Pansy was right and he wasn't in trouble. Blaise gave him a hopeful thumbs up and Draco mouthed 'good luck' as he walked away.

* * *

Dumbledore had settled himself behind his desk and offered Harry a lemon drop already. Harry refused, too busy staring around himself in awe. Dumbledore had a fascinating office. Harry was currently staring at a large bird on a perch in the corner, and he missed Dumbledore's question as it cooed at him. Harry tore his eyes away from the bird and looked at Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry sir, what did you say?"

Dumbledore smiled cheerfully at him. "A phoenix is the best sort of distraction, isn't he?" Harry looked at the bird again and nodded. It was very beautiful. "His name is Fawkes."

"That's a nice name."

"I like it too," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "My question though, before we were so happily distracted by my beautiful phoenix, was to ask you how you are adjusting to Hogwarts?"

"Oh," Harry said, wondering what he should say to that. "It's great… The classes are really interesting, and I've got a lot of friends."

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Friends are a wonderful thing. They can sometimes give very good advice."

"Sir?" Harry asked, a faint suspicion growing at the back of his mind.

"You have a very good friend in Mr. Zabini, for example." Dumbledore smiled at him, and Harry knew he was right that Dumbledore knew somehow about his discovery of the mirror.

"Sir," Harry began slowly, "If I may ask, how -"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible." Dumbledore allowed him to digest this information for a moment before continuing. "The Mirror of Erised is indeed a very powerful and dangerous artifact, Harry." Harry was relieved to see that Dumbledore didn't look angry at all. "Men have wasted away before it, or been driven mad by the possibilities it holds. I would not leave it unsupervised in a school. As it is, the Mirror has been moved to a new home. I'll ask you to take Mr. Zabini's admirable advice and not go looking for it again."

Harry nodded. "I've promised Blaise and Draco that I won't go looking for it again, sir. I won't."

"Thank you, Harry. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

Harry nodded again, and Dumbledore dismissed him.

* * *

_Thank you for all the reviews!_


	9. The Money

* * *

Hermione was not pleased when she heard what Harry had been up to over the past few days.

"Sneaking around all night and playing with dangerous magical artefacts?" she whispered shrilly at him, so as not to be kicked out of the library. "Harry, what were you thinking? I _told_ you to be careful!"

"I was being careful," Harry tried half heartedly. "I didn't get caught -"

"Unless you count Dumbledore," Hermione said pointedly. "Which _I do_."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I've already promised not to go looking for it again, and I promised Draco I wouldn't wander around at night without him anymore, so -"

"But Harry, I thought you promised me that you wouldn't do it at all."

Harry saw that Hermione was actually upset. It made him feel rather guilty. He realized, in retrospect, that telling her what Dumbledore had said about people going mad and wasting away in front of the Mirror probably hadn't been the best idea.

"I suppose you aren't going to let me go without another promise, are you?"

She shook her head, eyes narrowed.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," Harry said sincerely. "I promise not to sneak around at night again unless I actually have a very good reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's the best I'm going to get, isn't it?"

Harry nodded with a small, charming smile he'd seen Draco use to get his way with Pansy.

"Fine." She marched into the stacks, and gave Harry enough time to worry that perhaps she was angrier than he'd thought, before reappearing with a few books.

She plopped them down on the table in front of him, and he looked up at her in confusion.

"About magical stones, remember? I said I'd find out about them?"

"Oh, right. These are it, then?" Harry looked at the books with renewed interest, and opened one curiously.

"Yes, but look at this one first." Hermione pulled out one of the bigger books at the bottom of the pile and put it on top of his book, before flipping briefly through the pages and pointing. "There's an entire huge section on magical stones, so I thought we should start there."

* * *

Harry walked down the stairs to the dungeons slowly. He'd spent the morning working, and the afternoon with Hermione, looking up various possibilities for Dumbledore's stone. They had decided it was to do with alchemy, since Dumbledore had done quite a lot in that area, according to Hermione. She was going to go back to the book she'd found that information in and see if there were any clues.

Harry entered the common room quietly, exhausted and planning on heading straight up to his bed, but he saw Draco and Blaise sitting in their customary chairs, heads bent together, whispering seriously. He didn't think he'd seen them at all today, so he went over to say hello.

"Hullo Blaise, Draco," he said tiredly, plopping down in a chair next to them. They both looked up at him guiltily.

"Hi Harry," Blaise responded.

"Where've you been all day, Harry?" Draco asked innocently.

"I was studying with Hermione just now," Harry said with his eyes closed. "She thinks she has a pretty good idea of how to find out what the stone is."

"Really?" Blaise asked. "That's great. So you did that all day?"

"No, before that I was with -" Harry froze. Anthony had gone home for Christmas. He'd been so tired he had forgotten.

"With?" Draco prompted. Harry opened his eyes and realised that both his friends were watching him closely.

"Er…"

"Anthony's gone home for Christmas," Blaise said, echoing Harry's thoughts exactly.

"I…er…"

"We know you don't hang out with him all the time, anyway," Draco added, eyes narrow. "Where do you disappear to, Harry?"

"We're your friends," Blaise said cajolingly. "You can trust us."

Harry sighed.

"It's personal, okay?" he tried. The portrait on the wall above the fireplace muttered something that sounded like 'rubbish'. Harry tried very hard to ignore it and looked at his friends for their reaction instead.

"Do you have a Hufflepuff friend you're ashamed to admit to?" Draco asked sympathetically.

Harry was confused. "What?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Blaise tried.

"Er, no…"

Draco tried again. "Do you have a Gryffindor friend you're ashamed to admit to?"

"You both know all my Gryffindor friends," Harry replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Are you under Imperius?" Blaise suggested.

"An affair with a house elf?" Draco tried with a grin.

"A _boyfriend_?"

"Are you having an affair with Hermione Granger?" Draco asked, looking suddenly worried.

"Do you secretly hate us?" Blaise asked mournfully.

"What?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. "No, no to all of those!"

"Oh, good," Draco said, relieved. "I was worried I might have been right about you having an affair."

"I'm eleven!" Harry said in exasperation. "And which one did you think you were right about? The house elf or Hermione?"

"I wasn't sure which one would be worse," Draco said teasingly.

Harry glared playfully at him and said, "I'll have you know Hermione is much less annoying and much less likely to cry all over the place than the house elves, but maybe that's because she doesn't have you demanding things from her every second of the day. I'd cry all the time too."

Draco looked like he wanted very badly to stick his tongue out at Harry, but thought he was too dignified to do it. Blaise intervened.

"Honestly though, Harry. We wouldn't have minded if it was any of those things. Could what you're doing possibly be worse? Just tell us. We won't tell anyone." Draco nodded along with him.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you," Harry gave in. "Just… promise you won't laugh?"

Draco and Blaise both promised.

"My…my uncle told me before I came here that I had to pay him back for my tuition and everything," Harry began. Draco and Blaise nodded, frowning. "And, I mean, I had no idea where I was going to get all that money, so I asked Filch and he said he'd pay me to help him around school, so I work for him now, and I think if I keep working for him, and maybe get a summer job when I'm older, I'll probably be able to pay it all back by the time I graduate, hopefully…"

Blaise and Draco were staring at him now, Harry noted nervously. Blaise appeared to be rather bemused. Draco was biting his lip.

"Harry," he said carefully. "I'm sorry." He had an odd look on his face. Harry was concerned.

"What?" he said. "No, it's fine, I -"

"No, I mean I'm sorry, I'm going to break my promise." Draco looked up at him and started snickering helplessly.

Harry glared at him. Blaise shrugged at Harry and grinned slightly himself.

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's just funny…"

"What wonderful friends you two are!" Harry said, standing up angrily. Blaise seemed to have realised that Harry had the wrong idea about why they were laughing and stood too, serious now.

"No, Harry, you don't understand! Let us explain, please. Trust me."

Harry sat down warily and waited for Draco's snickering to end.

"I'm sorry Harry, but how can you not know?" Draco asked with an incredulous look on his face.

"Know what?" Harry said icily.

"That you're rich of course," Blaise stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Harry's jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"The Potters have always been rich, Harry." Draco explained. "I'd bet my magic you've got a trust fund hidden away somewhere. I'm sure if you'd asked about it before you'd have all the money you need and more by now."

"But no one's ever mentioned anything like that to me!" Harry said in shocked denial.

"Maybe they just assumed you knew…" Blaise mused. "People assume a lot about what you know, don't they?"

Harry flushed and wondered exactly how much Blaise knew about how confused he'd been the first couple weeks of school.

"So you've really been working for Filch all this time?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "How does he treat you? Is he really nasty?"

"Actually, he's pretty nice. We exchanged Christmas presents, even." Harry didn't mention that Filch had given him Mrs. Skower's Scentless Magical Mess Remover. It was a thoughtful gift, and Filch had been more than thrilled at getting a present in return, even if it was just a new cat bed for Mrs. Norris, and that was all that mattered. "And we have tea sometimes, in his office."

Draco cracked up. "Honestly?"

Harry nodded, and Draco shook his head and laughed some more.

"I just can't picture it, Harry. I really, really can't."

"Maybe you should continue working for him," Blaise said thoughtfully. Draco and Harry gave him curious looks.

"Why on earth would he do that?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well if he treats you well, Harry, it wouldn't hurt to keep his in his good books. Filch could be a useful ally."

Harry nodded. "He did say he'd take any detentions I get, and excuse them for me if they're scheduled during a practice."

Draco whistled. "I can see how that'd be useful," he agreed. "Do you think we could get in on this?"

"Not a clue," Harry said. "This might be a good idea, actually. It'll give me an excuse for having enough money to pay Uncle Vernon back and buy things for myself too. I'll just say Filch pays really well."

"Brilliant," Blaise said happily. "So you shorten your hours to, say, once a week, and see if you can figure out a way to make Filch warm up to Draco and I as well, and you get to have all sorts of extra money without your uncle catching on to the fact that you're filthy rich."

"Filthy rich?" Harry asked curiously. "Really?"

"Filthy _stinking_ rich," Draco assured him happily. "Richer than Vince and Greg, at least. Probably both of them put together. Not richer than me, though," he added quickly.

"You've got, what? One more summer house than Harry?" Blaise deadpanned. "Oh _wow_, Draco, that's impressive."

Draco glared at Blaise, who had no issues with sticking his own tongue out at him. Harry was awed. "I'm really that rich?"

"You can't touch most of it yet, of course," Draco explained. "For now you'll have whatever trust fund your parents left you, and you might be able to look into how the goblins are dealing with your vast fortunes since you're probably the only Potter left for them to deal with, but when you turn seventeen you'll have total control of all of it."

"Wow," Harry said quietly. "I certainly never expected this."

Blaise and Draco both grinned at him. "And to think," Draco exclaimed, as if the notion Harry had been living under all his life was completely ridiculous, "That you thought you were…poor!"

"Not that it would matter if you were," Blaise reassured him, and Draco nodded along in perfunctory agreement. "Now you look exhausted. Go to bed."

Harry nodded and wished them both a good night before dragging himself up the stairs. He wondered who he was supposed to ask in order to gain access to his trust fund. This would make his life so much easier.

* * *

Christmas break was fast coming to an end on the day that a beautiful snowy owl swooped into the Great Hall and landed by Harry's plate at breakfast, holding out her leg to present Harry with a letter.

Harry took the letter curiously, wondering who would write to him, and fed the owl a bit of bacon. The owl hooted gratefully at him and settled in to eat Harry's breakfast as he read his letter.

"Who is it from?" Draco asked, petting the owl as Harry glanced over the note.

"They have a beautiful owl, whoever they are," Pansy cooed, stroking the owl from across the table. "You are a beauty, aren't you?" The owl preened and strutted along between the plates of food as Pansy praised it.

"It's from Dudley," Harry said, still reading. It seemed Aunt Petunia was still unsure if she even liked Dudley anymore, so he'd had a pretty horrible Christmas. On the upside, Uncle Vernon had felt bad for him, and bought him more presents than usual, which was saying something. "My Uncle Vernon took him out a few days ago and bought her for him, apparently."

"This gorgeous owl belongs to your _cousin_?" Draco asked in disbelief. "He doesn't deserve a pet this nice."

"He's not so bad, lately," Harry said, thinking about the way Aunt Petunia had been acting toward her son before they left. Dudley didn't deserve that, even if he had been a horrid bully before Hogwarts. He was certainly improving now, having become a lot less bullying and a lot more friendly over the past few months, not to mention that Hermione's tutoring had gotten him up to average in just about all of his classes now. "Hermione is turning him into a pretty decent person."

Draco snickered. "I'd noticed her training him up. She doesn't let him take any more than seconds at dinner, you know. I've seen her slap his hand."

Blaise hooted with laughter. "Granger's got your cousin on a tight leash!"

Harry shook his head with a smile. He hadn't seen Hermione stop Dudley from overeating at meals, but he wouldn't doubt her ability to do so. She could be very assertive when she wanted to be.

"She's good for him, though," Pansy put in, allowing the still-present owl a sip of her pumpkin juice, to Draco's disgust. "He needs someone to boss him around, spoilt brat that he is."

"True, just look at this owl of his," Blaise said. The owl really was beautiful, Harry noted, watching Blaise stroke it's wings. "Did your cousin say what her name is?"

Harry scanned back through the letter again, re-reading the sentences Dudley had written about his new owl. "He says her name is…" Harry faltered for a moment. "…Whitey…"

"Oh, you poor dear," Pansy clucked sympathetically, stroking the bird and feeding it a bit of Harry's bacon. "Such a plebeian name for such a beautiful bird!"

"Your cousin is terrible at naming things," Draco said, his nose in the air. "I refuse to call her that."

Blaise laughed. "Well she doesn't exactly belong to you, Draco, so I doubt you'll get the chance to call her very much at all."

Draco made a face at Blaise. "I suppose you like it, then?"

Blaise gave a little mock shudder. "Not at all. But it's his owl to name, not ours."

Draco muttered something about Dudley having his naming rights taken away, if he was going to do such a poor job of it. Harry just shook his head. He had to agree that the name wasn't quite right, but he also agreed that she was Dudley's owl to name, not theirs.

"Harry," Blaise asked suddenly, "By the way, what are you going to tell your cousin about your recent discovery?"

Harry frowned. He had thought about it, and still wasn't sure what Dudley would do if he found out about how much money Harry had. Filthy rich, Draco had said, and Harry thought that Dudley would likely end up telling his parents about it, even if he didn't mean to do any harm, and they would immediately try to take all of it away from him.

"I haven't a clue," Harry said. "I thought about maybe bribing him, but I don't know if I can take the chance that he'd let it slip accidentally."

"Maybe you could have him swear an oath of silence?" Pansy suggested.

"Or just not tell him at all," Blaise added. "The best kept secret is the one you don't share."

"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "I do sort of want to tell him. And you lot knew about it, didn't you?"

"It is common knowledge if you're not muggleborn," Pansy agreed.

"Right," Harry said. "So what's to say someone else isn't going to mention it, and he'll tell his parents without my even knowing it's a possibility?"

"Gossip does travel fast around here," Draco agreed. "You're right, you'd probably better make sure he knows, and make sure he doesn't tell."

"So an oath of silence?" Pansy asked.

"In order for it to work without a doubt, he'd have to know what he was swearing not to tell first, else it'd be too general and he could slip out of it," Blaise said pensively. "And what if you tell him, and then he doesn't agree to swear the oath?"

"Blaise is right, he could blackmail you over it," Draco said. "Unless you made him swear an oath that he'll swear an oath to keep the secret once you tell him, before you tell him what it is."

"Do you really think anyone would agree to being boxed in like that?" Pansy asked doubtfully.

"She's right," Harry said. "Even Dudley wouldn't agree to that, and if Hermione was there she'd never allow it even if he was willing."

"Maybe you could bribe him to take the oath?" Blaise suggested.

"But then he'd know how important it is to you and he'd take advantage," Draco reasoned. "He'd probably try to take half your money or something."

"He might..." Pansy agreed. "How about if you got Granger to convince him instead?"

"Thats an idea," Harry said thoughtfully. "She'd probably be able to convince him to take the oath..."

"Tight leash and all," Draco snickered.

"Alright, I'll talk to Hermione, and tell him when break is over," Harry decided, looking down at his now nearly empty plate and the decidedly full looking owl perched on the table nearby. "Pansy, did you feed her _all _my bacon?"

"I would never do such a thing," Pansy said defensively. "She took most of it on her own."

Harry shook his head and refilled his plate, and they managed to finish the meal in relative peace.

* * *


	10. The Detention

"What!"

Harry was sitting in the library with Anthony, who had gotten a lot of new books for Christmas. When Harry had asked how his break had been, he had immediately and enthusiastically begun explaining a theory he'd found in one of them that sounded very worrying.

"It's a muggle theory, only they use decaying atoms and a machine with a killing device attached to it pointed at them behind a curtain, instead of runes and levitation spells."

"It sounds suicidal," Harry said doubtfully.

"The muggles do call it 'Quantum Suicide'," Anthony said eagerly. "The idea is that you die in this universe, but you couldn't possibly know it, because the whole thing is random and you can't see the weight above your head, so you move on to the next universe without realizing you died in the first one, and that proves that there are multiple universes out there. But because everyone in your universe sees you die, there's no way of telling if it'll work until you try it for yourself."

Harry was starting to become extremely worried that Anthony was leading up to asking him if he wanted to try it, and was therefore enormously relieved when he saw Hermione enter the library with Dudley and another Gryffindor Harry remembered as the boy who'd fallen off his broom during their first flying lesson.

"That's really cool, Anthony," he said. "Hey, er, I'm just going to go say hello to Hermione, okay?"

"Have fun," Anthony said, going back to his book contentedly.

Harry walked over to Hermione's usual table, where she, Dudley, and the boy (Harry was pretty sure his name was 'Longbottom') were setting their bags down and pulling out papers.

"Hi," he said, sitting down next to Dudley. "Doing homework already?"

"Of course," Hermione said. "How's Anthony doing?"

"He's doing great…I think he wants to try and kill me for an experiment."

Hermione nodded with a slight frown. "You're going to say no, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. Oh, and this is Neville Longbottom." She turned to Longbottom, who had been very quiet so far, and smiled. "Neville, this is Harry Potter."

"Nice to meet you," Neville said politely, holding out a hand for Harry to shake. "I've heard a lot about you."

Harry shook his hand. "I've heard a lot about me, too. It's strange."

Neville laughed, and Hermione said, "He's going to be studying with us from now on."

Harry nodded. "Happy to have you, Neville." He glanced at Hermione again and asked, "So have you had any luck finding out about the stone?"

"Oh!" She jumped in her chair and reached down for her bag. "I'd nearly forgotten to tell you!" She pulled out the book she'd shown Harry before, the one with the section on magical stones, and opened it about halfway through. "I saw a biography on Dumbledore in one of my other books, so I looked at that, and it mentioned that he had worked with Nicholas Flamel at one point, who, of course, created the Philosopher's Stone!"

Harry's eyes widened as he read the passage detailing the discovery and uses of the Stone. "So you think Dumbledore is keeping it for Flamel?"

"It has the closest connection to Dumbledore I've found," Hermione explained. "It's the best choice."

"And look at what it does," Harry said. "Makes gold and makes you immortal. What do you say to that, Hermione?"

"I say it could still be greed," Hermione said stubbornly. Harry gave her a skeptical look. "But I suppose the immortal part is likely to be for Voldemort."

"What?" Neville cried suddenly, nearly upsetting his ink bottle. "What are you talking about You-Know-Who for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Neville, I forgot some people don't like hearing his name," Hermione said apologetically, glancing around to make sure no one had heard Neville's outburst. "I won't say it any more if you don't want me to."

Neville still looked horribly confused. "It was just a shock, that's all. You just said it out of nowhere. Could I ask why?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. What were they supposed to say? 'We think Professor Quirrell is a Death Eater trying to resurrect Voldemort'?

"Harry thinks Professor Quirrell is evil and working for Voldemort," Dudley said absently. Neville flinched again. "Hermione thinks Harry is crazy and that Quirrell is just really greedy. They think he wants to steal that stone they were talking about, because the headmaster is keeping it hidden behind that three headed dog in the third floor where everyone isn't supposed to go, and Harry overhead Snape threatening Quirrell over it when he was sneaking around one night."

Neville blanched. Hermione glared at Dudley.

"What?" he asked in surprise. "You think I don't pay attention when you two go on about all that? It's interesting."

"Dudley, just do us a favour and don't tell anyone else," Harry said, thinking that he had been exactly right that Dudley would have told his parents about Harry's money if he hadn't convinced Hermione to make him swear an oath. "Alright?"

"Okay, okay," Dudley said, rolling his eyes. "Hermione, can I have a break?"

"Twenty minutes, then come back," Hermione said with a nod. Dudley left, and she looked over at Neville, who seemed to be staring at them both in shock. "You won't tell anyone, will you Neville?"

"Do you really think Professor Quirrell is a Death Eater?" Neville asked fearfully.

"No," Hermione said consolingly.

"Yes," Harry said at the same time. They looked at each other.

"We haven't decided yet," Hermione compromised. "Don't worry about it, though."

"It sounds like something to be worried about, if you ask me," Neville muttered.

"But if Harry's right, and Professor Quirrell is a Death Eater," Hermione reasoned, to both Harry and Neville. "Then Snape is already dealing with it, and we don't have to worry about it. _Do we,_ Harry?"

Harry frowned. He'd been afraid Hermione would say something like that.

"But how do you know Snape isn't helping Quirrell?" Neville asked suddenly. Harry and Hermione looked over at him in surprise. He blushed at the sudden attention, but continued. "I mean, did you know he was a Death Eater in the last war?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, but didn't Dumbledore pardon him?"

Neville nodded. "That's true. I suppose I can just really see him doing something like this."

"It doesn't make much sense with what Harry heard," Hermione said. "He heard Snape telling Quirrell off for threatening the students and trying to steal the stone…"

"Maybe he thought Quirrell wasn't being subtle enough?" Neville argued. "Maybe he thought he was going to get them caught?"

"I don't know…" Harry said thoughtfully. "But if that _was_ the case, Hermione, then just leaving it up to Snape to take care of things will only make it all worse."

Hermione sighed. "Neville, you do make a good point, but it's extremely unlikely. And Harry, let me emphasize this for you. _Extremely unlikely._ Let's not decide Snape is evil because you want to handle this on your own."

Harry agreed unwillingly. Sometimes Hermione could be _too_ persuasive.

* * *

Months passed, and winter turned into spring. Harry kept an eye on Quirrell, and Snape now too, but did nothing about the Stone.

He pleaded exhaustion to Filch, because of schoolwork (Hermione had them studying for exams _already_) and Quidditch piled on top of having a job, and Filch agreed to lessen his work schedule to once a week. Harry, who felt slightly guilty over this, convinced Hermione to start studying cleaning charms with him in their spare time, and now Harry was able to fit three days worth of cleaning into one.

Draco had now begun routinely pestering Harry about borrowing his cloak. It was a late night in mid-April when Harry finally broke down and agreed to a late night trip to the kitchens.

"Don't get caught, you two!" Blaise called from next to his bed, where he was pulling on his pyjamas.

"Bring me back something," Theo requested as they disappeared under the cloak. "Some biscuts, or something."

"Let's bring him back spinach," Draco whispered as they left the dorm. Harry laughed.

"You're mean, Draco."

"Oh, come on," Draco said cajolingly. "It'd be funny!"

Harry shushed him as they entered the common room. There weren't many people left at this late hour, and none of them would notice the door opening on its own if they were quick.

"This is so wicked," Draco whispered. Harry wasn't the only one picking up on Blaise's slang. "I could kick Adrian Pucey right now, and he'd never know it was me."

"We're going to the kitchens, Draco." Harry said quietly. "You're not kicking anyone. Why we have to go all the way down there when you could just tell the house elves to bring you something is beyond me, anyway."

"It's the spirit of the thing, Harry!" Draco argued. "Have a sense of adventure!"

It took them a while to find the kitchens, despite the directions Draco had extracted from a house elf earlier. They spent twenty sugar-filled minutes stuffing their mouths and pockets, and soon they were saying goodbye to the house elves and heading back to their dorms.

"I can't believe you actually got him spinach," Harry said with a laugh.

"I can't wait to see the look on his face," Draco said happily. "And you got him biscuts, didn't you? No harm, no foul."

They turned a corner and stopped short. Professor McGonagall, the transfiguration teacher, was patrolling the corridor just ahead of them. Harry suddenly realised that they'd forgotten the Invisibility Cloak in the kitchens.

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and started backing them down the corridor in the direction they'd come from. It was too late, though.

"What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall descended on them in an instant and had them both by the ear.

"Er-"

"We-"

"Detention for both of you!" McGonagall snapped. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you! Mr. Potter, I would have expected better of you!"

* * *

Harry and Draco trudged sadly along with Filch toward the gamekeepers's house the next night. Filch had already told Harry apologetically that he couldn't excuse him from this one; Hagrid had specifically requested that he take the next detentions so that he would have some help with whatever it was he was doing in the forest.

Draco was not happy with having to go into the forest, and after Filch left, complained to Harry under his breath that it was called the _Forbidden_ _Forest_ for a reason. Harry agreed sympathetically and told Draco that he could hold Harry's hand if he got too scared. Draco glared at him, and they spent the rest of the walk to the forest traipsing along behind the gamekeeper in a sullen silence as he explained that they were looking for something that was killing unicorns. Harry still wasn't very happy that Draco's insistence on wandering around at night had gotten him a detention that even Filch couldn't get him out of, one that involved hunting something that would kill a unicorn, even, and Draco still hadn't apologized. Draco just was lucky that the house elves had brought his Cloak back when asked. Harry had been worried it might have been lost for good.

They were well into the forest by the time they reached a split in the path. Unicorn blood pooled on the ground both ways, and Hagrid split them up. Harry opted to go with Fang and started off down a trail by himself after assuring Hagrid that he knew the spell to send sparks into the air.

Harry followed the trail until he found the unicorn, dead already. Unfortunately, he also found whatever it was that had killed it. As he fell to his knees, pain splitting his scar open, something leapt over Harry's head, charging the creature.

* * *

"He actually told you that Voldemort is here, at Hogwarts?" Hermione said worriedly. "How would he know?"

"He seemed to know quite a lot that I wouldn't have thought he would," Harry said tiredly. He hadn't slept very much the night before. "He knew about the Stone, and that we know about it. How would he have found out all that?"

It was the next morning, a Sunday, and Harry had brought Draco and Blaise with him to the library to meet Hermione so that he could talk it over with all of them at once. Dudley and Neville were still in bed, as it was quite early.

"Your scar was hurting, Harry," Blaise reminded him. "That only happens when Quirrell is around. I'll bet that thing in the forest was him."

"Firenze told me that the unicorn blood keeps you alive inches from death," Harry said suddenly. "Isn't Voldemort supposed to be half dead?"

"What, do you think Quirrell is Voldemort in disguise?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"Would you two stop saying his bloody name?" Draco asked in irritation.

Harry and Hermione looked over at Draco and realised that he was looking rather pale.

"Look," Blaise said softly. "If that centaur was right, and…You-Know-Who is really in the castle, and he really wants this Stone to bring him back to power, then the last thing you should be doing is saying his name like you two are."

"I've read about why people don't like saying his name," Hermione said. "They think there's a curse on it, right?"

Draco and Blaise nodded uneasily.

"I've also read that that's just rubbish spread around by his followers to create fear," she finished pointedly. "Harry and I have been saying it all year, and nothing's happened to us!"

"Aside from finding out that the Dark Lord is at the same school you are, this close to coming back to full power and killing you both," Draco snapped. "It might be rubbish and it might not, Granger, but either way, it's not necessary to say it so damned often. We're trying to concentrate here."

Hermione gave in with only a mildly irritated look on her face, and Harry was impressed. He'd never won an argument with her that quickly.

"Alright, anyway, Harry. You know what we have to do, right?"

"We could -"

"Tell a teacher." Hermione said firmly. "Snape, preferably, as he seems to have a notion of what's going on and would be less likely to dismiss it all."

Blaise sighed. "She's right, Harry. We should tell Snape. He's already suspicious of Quirrell, if that conversation you overheard meant anything we thought it did, and he'll handle it."

"But what if he doesn't?" Harry asked in frustration. "What if he's working with Quirrell, like Neville said, remember? What if he just tells us not to worry about it, and the next thing we know, Vol- You-Know-Who, sorry, is back in power and killing us all?"

"Harry, are you going to take Neville Longbottom's word over ours?" Draco exclaimed. "Snape was a spy, remember? He'll help us, you'll see."

And then Hermione, Blaise and Draco were all standing up and looking at Harry expectantly, and he had no choice but to follow them down to Snape's office.

* * *

"I see," Professor Snape said, tapping his desk with one long finger. They had just told him their suspicions, leaving out anything that would get them detention, of course. "So you think that Professor Quirrell is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone that this centaur told you was hidden behind a Cerberus in the third floor corridor, because Professor Quirrell's class makes Mr. Potter's head hurt?"

Put like that, it sounded a bit ridiculous, and Harry nearly began to doubt it himself. Blaise and Draco looked slightly uncomfortable. Fortunately, Hermione was there.

"Yes, sir," she said confidently. "It isn't just that his head hurts. He can't concentrate at all when it happens. It's very painful; we've all seen it happen to him, but only when Professor Quirrell is around. And the same exact thing happened to him when he was in the forest, with the creature that was drinking the unicorn blood. It all seems to fit, sir."

Professor Snape looked at them all contemplatively. "I will bring this to Professor Dumbledore's attention," he said, and Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking.

After they'd been ushered out, Hermione said goodbye and went back to the library. She seemed happy enough about the situation. Harry wasn't, though. He wasn't any more certain than before that Snape would do as he'd said he would.

Harry didn't say anything, though, until that night before bed. Blaise put his pyjamas on and went straight to sleep, and Harry immediately went over to Draco's bed.

"Draco, can we talk?" Harry had decided that Draco would be the least likely to try to talk him out of what he was about to say.

Draco, who was already under the covers at this point, looked up at him expectantly. Harry sat down at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and gazing seriously at him.

"I don't trust Snape," he said without preamble.

Draco sighed. "We already told him, Harry. It's too late for that."

"No," Harry said forcefully. "It isn't too late. He's still not done anything about it."

"He hasn't had very much time, Harry," Draco said uncertainly.

"He's had since this morning," Harry said. "And we haven't heard a thing."

"It's the weekend," Draco reasoned. "We're not likely to hear much about the teachers."

Harry frowned. "Alright then. How about this, Draco. If, come Monday, Quirrell isn't gone, or if there isn't at least _some_ sign that Professor Dumbledore is doing something about him, then I'm taking this into my own hands."

"Harry," Draco tried.

"No, honestly, Draco, I feel it," Harry interrupted unhappily, rubbing his scar. "I know it's Quirrell. I just _know_. And if the teachers are going to ignore that, then I won't."

Draco stared at him for a moment, waging an internal battle. Harry stared back calmly.

"Don't do anything without telling me first," Draco finally said. "I want to come with you."

Harry blinked, then smiled.

"Deal."

_

* * *

  
_


	11. The Stone

**

* * *

**"Drink it."

"Are you sure it's-"

"Yes, drink it and go," Draco assured him. "I'll figure something out."

Harry downed the potion in one gulp, and stepped through the black flames.

Just as Harry had thought, Snape had done nothing. Quirrell was still teaching, and he didn't even looked worried. Not anymore than he usually did, anyway, and that wasn't good enough for Harry. He had waited until classes were over and told everyone that he and Draco were going to go mess around on the Quidditch pitch. Then they grabbed Harry's Cloak and went straight to the third floor, where Draco sang nervously at the dog like Pansy had told them, while Harry discovered a trapdoor and got them both down it.

They were both nervous balls of energy, which was good because it meant they kept moving and avoided getting caught by the Devil's Snare that Draco identified weakly after he'd lit his wand. They'd found the flying key that hadn't been difficult to catch at all after Draco told Harry which one they were looking for, and in the next room, all those games of chess they'd played by the fire paid off.

Harry had been forced into the King position, and stood sullenly the whole time, making sure Draco didn't kill himself. The only consolation was that he could tease Draco for playing as the Queen, no matter what Draco said about it being the most powerful piece.

They'd had a bit more trouble with the troll, who, despite the fact that it hadn't really been expecting visitors and was asleep, woke when they were halfway across the room and nearly got Harry in the head with it's club. And then they were in a room with several potions on a table, and Draco had read through the paper a few times and abruptly handed Harry a bottle and commanded him to drink. Harry had read through the paper as well, and could see that there was only enough in the bottle for one, and had protested as much. Draco had shoved him toward the fire and repeated the command.

Which was where Harry was now, standing in the chamber with the mirror. Alone. He walked toward the mirror, wondering if he'd see his parents again, remembering Blaise and Dumbledore's warnings. And as much as he wanted to see them, he had other things to worry about at the moment. Like what he was doing here, making sure that Quirrell and Voldemort never got their hands on the Stone. And how they were going to get out of here, with that troll waiting for them. Harry was starting to think this might have been a bad idea. He turned and looked back at the fire, wondering what Draco would say if he went back through and suggested that they go to Dumbledore.

It was at this point that Draco burst through the black flames, panting and looking rather worse for the wear.

"Draco! What happened?" Harry exclaimed, dashing back to the flames and grabbing Draco's arm to support him.

Draco caught his breath and tried to explain. "I thought, if maybe I went back and forth, the bottle might refill itself. I was right."

"You went back to the troll?" Harry cried. "Draco, you idiot! What do you think you are, a Gryffindor?"

"Well pardon me for not wanting to let you go in here alone!" Draco said defensively. "And it worked, didn't it? Now, what's this mirror all about, then?"

And he walked past Harry, ignoring his flabbergasted expression, in order to examine the mirror more closely. "Hey, I see us with the Stone!" Draco sounded surprised. "What kind of mirror is this, anyway?"

"It's the Mirror of Erised," Harry explained, momentarily distracted. "Remember, I found it at Christmas? Where do you see us?" Maybe it would show them where the Stone was hidden?

"We're in the Slytherin dorms," Draco said. "It's sitting on the nightstand, and we're playing Snap."

Harry knew for a fact that the Stone was not currently sitting on his nightstand. Draco must want this whole ordeal to be over with, then.

"Let me try," Harry said. "I think I want to find it badly enough, it might show me." Draco stepped aside, and Harry took his place. His reflection stared hopefully back at him for a moment, then smiled and held up the stone. Harry's eyes widened as it put the stone in his pocket. He reached for said pocket, and there it was.

"Draco, I've got it!" he said excitedly, pulling it out of his pocket and holding it up. Draco stared at it in shock.

"You know, I never really thought this would work." He grinned suddenly. "Good job, Harry. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Harry nodded, and they both made their way back through the black flames. Draco was already immune to the purple fire, so Harry drank that potion too and they both poked their heads tentatively out the door to see what the troll was doing. It looked angry.

"Now what?" Draco asked after they'd pulled their heads back. Harry looked at the ceiling and bit his lip.

"We could catch it by surprise and run," he suggested helplessly.

"Now who's the Gryffindor," Draco muttered, deep in thought. "What do you say to taking all these potions and chucking them at the troll's head? Some of them are poison according to the paper, and we wouldn't even have to stick any more than our arms and heads through the fire to do it."

"Would they affect it?" Harry asked doubtfully. "It's pretty big…"

"Couldn't hurt to try, could it?" Draco asked philosophically, picking up the bottle second from the left. "It said the two second from the outside are poison, so let's try those first."

Harry carefully picked up the bottle second from the right and hefted it in his hand. "Are you any good at hitting what you aim at?" he asked Draco hopefully. "Because honestly, I could be better."

"Pick another bottle then, and lets see how good you are," Draco suggested, taking the poison. "If you miss, I'll throw the rest. It's not a very big room, it shouldn't be too hard."

Harry nodded and picked up the bottle in the very middle. He ducked his head slowly through the fire and looked out at the troll, who was looking like a rather angry and dimwitted lion in a cage. It really wasn't a very big room. Harry took a deep breath and waited until the troll looked in his direction before chucking the bottle at it's head and ducking back into the potion chamber.

"Well?" Draco asked. A furious roar met their ears in response.

"I think I got it," Harry said hopefully.

"Good. It's my turn, then," Draco said, handing him his bottle of poison back. The troll still sounded very angry. Harry held the bottle with both hands and watched anxiously as Draco stuck his head out the door and chucked his own bottle. Draco waited a second longer than Harry thought necessary, probably to see if it hit, before ducking back in and grinning at Harry.

"We both hit!" he said gleefully. "Yours had some horrid poison in it that melted a lot of his skin off! It's positively gruesome!"

Harry, while happy that it sounded like they were getting out soon, felt a bit guilty about melting off half the troll's skin and lost a bit of enthusiasm for the plan.

"D'you want to throw this one?" he asked, offering his bottle to Draco. "I think I've rather lost my taste for it."

Draco nodded generously and took it from him. "Allow me," he said, ducking his head into the fire.

Before he could do anything, though, the roaring stopped. Draco paused, and pulled his head back out. He didn't seem quite as gleeful as he had been a second ago.

"He's collapsed," he said, looking down at the bottle in his hands. "I don't think this'll be necessary."

He set it back down on the table and looked back at Harry.

"Shall we?" Harry nodded and started for the fire, but before he could go through, Draco stopped him. "Try not to look at it, okay?" The solemn look on Draco's face kept Harry from doing anything but nodding as he stepped carefully into the flames.

* * *

"So what do we do with it?" Draco asked, tossing the Stone from one hand to the other absently. Their quest had only taken a couple hours, so dinner hadn't even started yet. No one had even missed them. They were sitting on Harry's bed in the dorm, planning.

"Hermione would kill me if she found out what we did," Harry said. "So I think we probably shouldn't tell her, at least."

"I'm fine with that," Draco said, grinning. "And let's leave Blaise out of this too, okay? He'll make us feel guilty for being 'irresponsible', and probably make us give it back."

"Well, we aren't exactly going to be keeping it," Harry said with a frown. "We're just keeping it from Quirrell, not Dumbledore."

"Right," Draco said, nodding quickly. "But if Dumbledore was so bad at protecting it that _we_ could get to it, then what's to say he'll protect it any better when we give it back?"

"That's true," Harry said slowly. "But I wasn't planning on giving it back any time soon, anyway. I'll definitely wait until Quirrell's been discovered or at least sacked."

"Right," Draco said. "And in the meantime, what should we do with it?"

Harry frowned. "I dunno, put it at the bottom of my trunk and forget about it?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry. "You're not serious."

Harry shrugged. "Think about it. If no one knows we have it, who's going to go looking for it there? It could just sit quietly at the bottom of my trunk until it's safe to give it back."

Draco shook his head. "Harry, if Dumbledore wasn't protecting it enough with all that stuff we had to get past, then how do you think putting it in the bottom of your trunk and forgetting about it could possibly be any better?" Draco folded his arms and frowned at Harry. "At the very least, put some protective charms on the trunk. No one would suspect anything. You're a Slytherin."

"That's a good idea," Harry agreed. "But do you think I should just leave it here, then, in the meantime?"

"You can put it in my trunk," Draco suggested. "My father would never have let me leave home without scores of protective charms on it."

Harry considered the idea, and decided that, yes, he did trust Draco that much.

"Alright," Harry said, handing him the stone. "Don't do anything with it, though. Just leave it in there in the bottom or something."

"Right," Draco said, opening his trunk and tucking it neatly away under a pair of socks at the bottom. "Now, let's go down to dinner. Saving the world makes me hungry."

Harry laughed at him and they left the dorm, the Stone quickly falling to the back of their minds and out of their thoughts.

* * *

And for the next two months, that was where the Stone stayed: out of their thoughts. Harry carried on with his Quidditch training, and Marcus told him that if he beat out the current Seeker at tryouts next year, which was likely, then he'd be playing first string in all the matches.

Harry continued studying with Hermione, Dudley, and Neville for exams, and after the meeting with Snape the day before Draco and Harry had gone and gotten the Stone, Blaise joined them regularly, and Draco and Pansy dropped by sometimes too. Neither Harry nor Draco said a word about the Stone after that day, and aside from a few questioning glances, none of the rest mentioned it either.

Harry also convinced Blaise and Draco to join him for tea with Filch a few times, and aside from a few awkward moments when Filch accused Draco of having tracked mud in from Herbology that day, and Draco became affronted at the idea that _he_ would have mud on him, it went well. Harry thought it was unlikely, though, that Filch would extend any modicum of leniency to his friends unless they both got themselves part time jobs like Harry, which was quite plainly never going to happen.

Dudley and Harry began talking more often outside Hermione's study groups as well. Dudley had told Harry he could use Whitey whenever he wanted, as long as he asked first. Whitey had taken a liking to Harry, and would often perch at the Slytherin table after dropping off letters for Dudley. Harry secretly thought this had more to do with Pansy's habit of feeding her from Harry's plate than anything Harry had done, but was happy to agree to Dudley's terms, as he really did like the owl. Dudley had also told Harry he could use his extra bedroom when they got back to Privet Drive for the summer. Harry had been caught off guard by the casual way Dudley had bestowed such an uncharacteristic kindness, and resolved to buy Hermione something very nice for her birthday. Dudley too.

Anthony, as it turned out, hadn't really planned on having Harry try out the Quantum Suicide theory after all, for which Harry was grateful.

"There are rumours about you, anyway," Anthony had explained. "That you can't actually die normally, because of what happened, you know. You would throw the entire experiment off, I think."

Harry had been mildly disturbed at this, especially when Anthony had continued on after that to wonder why, how, and if that particular state of affairs had actually come about, and how to test it, but was relieved that his Boy-Who-Lived status had at least saved him from this particular experiment.

Exams finally came, distracting Harry completely. The day after they were finished, Harry sat with Draco and Blaise in the common room, feeling confident that he had done fairly well, and debating the merits of challenging Blaise to a game of chess. It was at this point that Pansy came over and dropped down on the couch next to them, clearly full of news.

"Have you heard?" she asked, looking as though she hoped they hadn't.

"Heard what?" Blaise asked distractedly. He looked very much like he would like very much to not have to think about anything at all after all those tests, which was why Harry had been thinking of challenging him, as Blaise would be much more likely to lose in that state of mind.

"About Professor Quirrell!" Pansy said, clearly thrilled to be the one telling them this news. Harry's head snapped up to look at her, Draco's not far behind.

"What about him, then?" Harry asked impatiently.

"He's disappeared!" she told Harry, leaning toward him on the couch, eyes wide. "Everyone's saying that he and Dumbledore duelled, and that Quirrell lost, and now he's gone. No one knows why though, it's strange. Do you think this has something to do with -"

Harry interrupted her with a sharp shake of his head, and she quieted immediately. He looked over at Draco, who shrugged and said, "We should probably be positive, first."

"What are you talking about, Draco?" Blaise asked, shaking his post-testing lethargy off and eyeing him shrewdly.

"It'd be a pretty pathetic rumour if he wasn't actually gone," Harry reasoned.

"He's gone," Pansy assured them, looking back and forth between Harry and Draco. "What are you two talking about?"

"We should be completely certain first, though," Harry nodded. "He'll have to announce it at dinner or something, won't he?"

"What did you two do?" Blaise demanded, sitting up straight and staring at them both.

"To dinner, then," Draco agreed, fighting back a smirk. He and Harry rose to leave.

"It's not even four o'clock yet!" Pansy objected as they passed her chair. "Stay here and tell us what you two were talking about! Draco!"

But Harry and Draco had already escaped.

"Damn them both," Blaise muttered, going back to his blank staring. "If I felt like it, we'd track them down and torture the information out of them."

Pansy gave him an amused glance. "Of course, Blaise. We'll find out at dinner, I suppose."

Sure enough, at dinnertime, Dumbledore announced Professor Quirrell's resignation. He assured them distractedly that they'd have a new Defence teacher next year, and until then, those classes would be free periods. Afterward, he sat down and leaned toward Professor McGonagall, who listened with a worried expression on her face as he spoke to her.

Harry whispered to Draco he was going to give Dumbledore the Stone after dinner. They agreed that Draco would stay behind and give Blaise and Pansy the required explanation, although Draco refused to tell Hermione, and told Harry that he had to do that himself. Harry agreed reluctantly, and that was how he found himself standing outside Professor Dumbledore's office after dinner that night, staring at the gargoyle and wondering how to get inside.

_

* * *

  
_


	12. The Homecoming

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Professor Dumbledore said as he stopped next to the gargoyle. "Cockroach Clusters."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, suddenly nervous as the gargoyle jumped aside to reveal the moving stairs. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore replied. "To my office, then?"

He stepped aside and allowed Harry to go first. Harry took a breath and stepped onto the stairs.

* * *

"You did _not_

."

Draco grinned. "We did."

"And you didn't get caught?" Blaise sounded sceptical.

"Harry's going to tell Dumbledore and give it back now. You'd think if he knew about it, he'd have said something by now."

"So that's why Quirrell got kicked out, at least," Pansy said. "He _was_ going for the Stone, and Dumbledore caught him." A thought struck her. "Oooh, do you think Dumbledore knows it's gone now?"

"If he doesn't, he's an even sadder excuse for a legend than I thought," Draco said scornfully. "I mean, _Harry and I _got through all those obstacles that were supposed to be protecting that thing. If he's not even aware _now_ that it's gone, what with Quirrell…"

"I think he does," Blaise disagreed. "He looked worried at dinner."

"True," Pansy agreed. "Quirrell trying to steal the Stone wouldn't be cause for worry now unless he wasn't sure if Quirrell has it or not."

"We'll ask Harry when he gets back," Draco suggested.

* * *

"Now what was it that you wanted to talk about, Harry?"

Harry looked down at his shoes nervously. They were the ones Draco had bought for him at Christmas. He regretted the decision to have Draco stay behind with Pansy and Blaise. This would be easier if he wasn't by himself.

"I…you announced at dinner that Professor Quirrell got sacked," he began haltingly. Dumbledore nodded in encouragement. "I just wondered if it had anything to do with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Harry looked up. Dumbledore was looking very composed and slightly curious.

"And how would you happen to know about that particular Stone, Harry?"

"Well, er, I heard about it a while ago, and I was worried that Quirrell was going to steal it because of something a centaur told me so…" Harry realized he sounded ridiculous and gave up. "I'm sorry sir." He pulled the Stone out of his pocket and set it carefully on Dumbledore's desk. "It'll be safe from Voldemort now, right?"

This time, when Harry looked up, he saw the stunned and elated expression on Dumbledore's face.

"I think I am correct in assuming that there is a very long, very twisty story behind this?"

By the delighted tone of his voice, Harry felt that Dumbledore might not be _too_ mad at him. Emboldened by this idea, he nodded and began his tale.

* * *

Harry was bombarded with questions the moment he entered the common room. He dragged Blaise, Pansy and Draco down to the library with him so that he wouldn't have to explain everything twice.

Hermione was not pleased with what Harry had done behind her back.

"So that's why you stopped worrying about it, and why you wanted to learn about protective charms!" She sounded annoyed. "I can't believe you, Harry."

"Alright, Granger knows now, so what did he say?" Draco interrupted eagerly.

Everyone turned their attention to Harry. Even Dudley and Neville, who technically had nothing to do with it. Harry thought absently that, if they were there, he might as well have invited Anthony to listen too. He would have, if Anthony had been in the library like he usually was.

Harry paused for effect. "His exact words were something like 'I can't believe you did all that without my knowing.'"

Draco and Pansy laughed delightedly. Even Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

"Brilliant!" Blaise said happily. "So did you get in any trouble?"

"Knowing Harry, he's been promoted to prefect," Draco said.

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that!" Hermione disagreed, aghast. "You only get to be prefect in fifth year, and he did something _wrong_!"

"Professor Snape put him on the Quidditch team after he did something _wrong,_" Pansy said, looking amused at Hermione's antics. "Harry follows a different set of rules."

Harry appeared stung. "I do not," he disagreed. "I just…the circumstances were different, then and now…sod off!" He reached across the table and swatted at Blaise, who had been snickering at him and mocking Harry's best innocent face.

Pansy laughed at them both, and Neville interrupted after a moment to ask, "So _did_ you get in any trouble?"

Harry frowned at them all for a moment, and said, "He gave me sixty points for Slytherin."

Draco burst out laughing, and Madam Pince gave him a reproving glare from her desk. He quieted immediately, although he snickered when he looked at Harry again.

"Quiet, you," Harry scolded him. "You got sixty points too."

This quieted Draco for a moment. "Really? I got points?" Draco looked highly pleased with himself. "This puts us in the lead for sure, doesn't it?"

"Hermione got fifty, so maybe not."

Hermione blushed. "_Me?_ Why did I get fifty?"

"For all the research, of course." Harry paused, and unwillingly added, "He also said 'for attempting to restrain your peers'…"

Pansy snickered. "Good luck with that."

Hermione was still flushed with her reward, and grinned at Pansy before asking, "Did anyone else get points?"

"Pansy got ten, I'm not sure why, and Blaise got twenty-five. I think Dumbledore just likes you," he explained at Blaise's curious look. "He told me before how _wise_ you were being about the mirror, remember? But he said it was for the same as Hermione. Attempting to restrain and such."

Blaise appeared to be unsure of how to handle Dumbledore's apparent fondness for him.

"I suppose it's a good thing, isn't it?" Draco asked after he'd finished laughing at the bewildered expression Blaise was wearing. "I mean, you're bound to be let off easier for a lot of things, Blaise. It's like Harry with Filch. Now Pansy and I just have to find our own pet teachers and we'll all be set!"

"How about Madam Pince?" Blaise suggested with a grin. Draco scowled at him.

"If I had a pet teacher, it would _not_ be the _librarian,_" Draco said haughtily. "I mean, for Merlin's sake, I could have Professor Snape if I wanted!"

Pansy snickered. When Draco looked over at her, she smirked and said, "Not if I get him first…"

The resulting argument got them kicked out of the library, to Hermione's dismay, although after a few apologies she calmed down and agreed to a walk by the lake. Soon after that, Dudley asked hopefully if they thought he could have a pet teacher, and they spent the rest of the day arguing over possibilities.

The last few days of the school term were spent in this carefree manner, and when it was time to board the train home, Harry felt it was too soon.

"It won't be so bad, Harry," Pansy assured him when he expressed this to her. "Blaise and Draco and Hermione and I will owl you all the time, and you and Dudley get along now, don't you?"

Harry nodded unwillingly. Dudley really was loads better than he'd been before school. He thought he could actually claim Dudley as a friend now, instead of just the cousin with whom he shared an intense mutual dislike.

Blaise reappeared from the compartment where he'd been stashing his trunk.

"If you find that you really can't stand it, Harry, ask Dudley if you can borrow his owl and we'll plot your grand escape."

Harry smiled in spite of himself.

"Get on the train already, you three!" Draco called from an open window. "It's going to leave without you!"

Harry took one last look at Hogwarts and followed Blaise and Pansy to their compartment, where Draco was waiting for them along with Hermione, who had been reading a book which she put down when they came in, and Neville and Dudley, who were playing Exploding Snap.

"I cannot believe that you three would just leave me to fend for myself in a compartment full of Gryffindors," Draco said severely. "They could have gone mad, overpowered me, and done horrible and unmentionable things to my person."

Neville seemed alarmed that anyone thought he would do such a thing and nearly let one of his cards blow up. Hermione laughed.

"What sort of unmentionable things do you think us three first years are capable of?"

"I _did_ say they were unmentionable. Do pay attention, please."

Draco was trying very hard to keep a straight face, and failed when Harry laughed at him. "Quiet Harry," Draco scolded him with an amused smirk. "You've been hanging out with them all year, who knows what they've taught you?"

"You're right, Draco, they've taught me awful things," Harry agreed darkly. "Now remember that next time you feel like being whiny, or I'll Scourgify you until you beg for mercy."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Isn't Scourgify a cleaning charm?" Pansy asked finally. Hermione snorted and elbowed her.

"Are you trying to say something about my hygiene?" Draco demanded. Blaise snickered.

Harry looked nonchalantly out the window at the flashing scenery. "If the shoe fits, Draco."

Draco glared at him as the rest of them laughed. "You're one to talk, Harry. I mean, look at your hair! Have you ever? I'm going to buy you a mirror for your birthday."

Blaise snickered again. "He has a point, Harry. I'll buy you a brush."

Pansy smiled. "And I'll buy you hair-care potions! We'll make it a theme! Hermione, you can get him muggle hair-stuff!"

Harry began to feel worried when Hermione suggested a hair-straightener with an evil sort of grin in his direction.

"You guys don't have to buy me anything," he tried. "It's nice of you to offer, but please…"

"Of course we're going to buy you presents, Harry," Draco assured him blithely. "And that reminds me. You're coming with me when we go to Diagon Alley. Dudley too, if he wants," he added as an afterthought, glancing at Harry's cousin.

"Sure, thanks," Dudley agreed as he and Neville began another game.

"Perfect," Draco said. "I'll owl you about it later this summer. It'll be fun. Father always has other things to do, and if you two are with me, then he can just leave us in Diagon Alley."

Harry agreed, and Blaise suggested a game of chess. They alternated for a while, and eventually Harry joined Dudley and Neville instead, in order to boost the small part of his ego that hadn't been crushed in the chess matches. Anthony found them after a while, and stayed for a few hours, discussing something about electricity with Hermione that Harry wasn't going to attempt to follow, as he'd never known much about it even before Hogwarts. The whole trip was very peaceful, and by the time the train arrived at King's Cross, Harry almost felt that this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

"Welcome home, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said gruffly, clapping a hand on Dudley's shoulder. He nodded at Harry, who had followed Dudley out of the barrier. "Harry."

"Uncle Vernon," Harry replied uncertainly. Hermione broke the tension by appearing suddenly from the barrier and waving at Harry and Dudley before running over to a couple standing nearby and hugging them.

"Is that one of your friends, Dudley?" Uncle Vernon asked as Dudley and Harry waved back. He eyed her and her parents as Hermione smiled and pulled them over. Dudley nodded and grinned.

"That's Hermione, she's really smart," he said. Hermione reached them and beamed.

"Mum, Dad, these are Harry and Dudley. They're friends of mine. Dudley, Harry, these are my parents, Jane and Howard Granger. They're dentists."

"Nice to meet you, Dr….and Dr. Granger," Harry said.

"Nice to meet you," Dudley echoed.

"Lovely to meet you, Harry and Dudley," Dr. Granger said. "Hermione has told us so much about you in her letters." She then turned her attention inquisitively to Uncle Vernon, and Dudley belatedly realized he was meant to give an introduction.

"Erm, this is my dad," he fumbled. "Vernon Dursley. Dad, this is Hermione and her parents."

Uncle Vernon and the Grangers shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

"What do you practice?" Uncle Vernon asked interestedly.

"I'm a BDS, and my wife is a BChD," Dr. Granger explained. He smiled at his wife. "We run a dental office near London. We were terribly surprised when the Hogwarts letter came, weren't you?"

Uncle Vernon had visibly brightened. Harry thought it might have to do with the fact that these people were so clearly and irrevocably _normal_.

"You have no idea," Uncle Vernon said jovially. Dr. Granger checked her watch.

"I hate to cut this short," she said apologetically, "But we really must be going. We're taking Hermione to a show to celebrate her return, and we'll be extremely late if we stay any longer."

"Of course," Uncle Vernon said graciously. "Don't let us hold you up."

"I'm sure our children will be in contact over the summer," Dr. Granger said, pulling a card out of his wallet and writing something neatly on the back. "But here's our home number, just in case."

He handed it to Uncle Vernon, and they shook hands once more before saying goodbye and leaving with Hermione, who waved as her father pushed her trolley away.

The meeting with the Grangers seemed to have put Uncle Vernon in a very good mood, Harry noted as Uncle Vernon congratulated Dudley (and Harry, indirectly) on having made such a fine friend. He even pushed the trolley that Harry had loaded both their trunks onto, having expected the same as last year.

Harry and Dudley followed Uncle Vernon out of the station, and Dudley filled the silence with talk about Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon shushed him a few times for using words like 'magic' or 'spells', but he mostly just let Dudley prattle on excitedly about school. Harry noted that Uncle Vernon already seemed very well informed about who and what Dudley was talking about, and realized, possibly for the first time, just how often Dudley had written home that year.

At the car, Harry helped Uncle Vernon load their trunks into the boot, and Harry and Dudley sat together in the backseat as Dudley continued to regale his father with stories about Hogwarts on the ride home. Harry was even asked to contribute every so often, and his stories were greeted with a nod and sometimes a question, just like Dudley's. At one point, Dudley asked him to explain the whole issue with the Philosopher's Stone, and Uncle Vernon actually chortled when he explained how they'd fooled the Headmaster. Harry wondered exactly what Dudley had said about him in his letters home, to make Uncle Vernon so…not hostile toward him now. The change between now and last year was positively eerie, if Harry stopped to think about it.

When they got home, Uncle Vernon carried Dudley's trunk inside, and Dudley helped Harry with his own. The surreal feeling Harry had had in the car intensified when Dudley reminded him that he wasn't sleeping in the cupboard anymore. Apparently this had already been discussed with Uncle Vernon, because he made no mention of it as Harry and Dudley dragged Harry's things upstairs and stowed them in Dudley's second bedroom.

Harry had a moment to wonder if he'd stepped into a parallel universe where everyone was bizarrely nice to him as he walked downstairs to the kitchen, where he would normally be helping with dinner right now.

He went inside, and it was as though he'd stepped back through to his old universe. Aunt Petunia was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes with a tense expression on her face, and when she saw him, she snapped at him to finish the job and turned jerkily to the stovetop, where water was boiling.

Harry fished the peeler out of the pile of potato skins in the sink and got to work while Aunt Petunia fidgeted at the stove. Normally by now, she would have told him what he was making and let him get on with it, but today, she seemed reluctant to leave the kitchen. Harry wondered if she thought he might have forgotten how to make dinner since he'd been gone.

They worked in painful silence for a few minutes, meaning that Harry worked and Aunt Petunia pretended to look busy, and soon the television came on in the other room. They heard Dudley laugh at something on the telly and Harry saw Aunt Petunia flinch out of the corner of his eye.

It dawned on Harry what was happening here, and he frowned at the potatoes he was now chopping up. She was avoiding Dudley. Harry wasn't sure what to think about this. He finished the potatoes and handed the chopping board to Aunt Petunia, who dumped it all in the water and stared at it unhappily. Maybe this wouldn't be such a great summer after all.

* * *

_A/N: BDS or BChD are Bachelor of Dental Surgery degrees. Thanks to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out the difference between the US and UK versions!_


	13. The Birthday

* * *

"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day," Uncle Vernon said, clearing his throat.

Dudley grinned and pulled a present out from under the table. "Happy Birthday, Harry!"

Harry looked up with some surprise. He wasn't the only one. Uncle Vernon blinked as Dudley handed Harry the cylinder shaped gift, and Aunt Petunia looked on in distaste.

"Er, right, yes, of course," Uncle Vernon blustered. "Let me finish, Dudley. Today is a very important day, yes, for two reasons. The first of which is Harry's birthday, of course."

Harry tried not to smirk. Everyone at the table (with the possible exception of Dudley) knew that his birthday was not what Uncle Vernon had meant, and that he was only pretending so to please Dudley. Harry didn't mind though. Dudley had remembered his birthday, had even bought him a present!

Uncle Vernon coughed slightly. "The other reason, of course, is the deal I could make tonight from this dinner party. Now, I think we should run through the schedule one more time. We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be…?"

Aunt Petunia frowned and recited, "In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously into our home."

"Right, and Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a simpering voice. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

Uncle Vernon nodded. "Excellent. And you, Harry?"

"I'll be standing next to Dudley." Harry didn't put on a voice, but he did repeat the words Uncle Vernon had told him to use. "Allow me to escort you to the lounge, Mr. and Mrs. Mason."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit stupid as he parroted his line at Uncle Vernon, but he had to admit that it was better than being shut up somewhere, which was what Uncle Vernon used to prefer when he had his dinner parties.

"Good, good. And I'll explain that you're our nephew, visiting for the summer, and…" Uncle Vernon seemed to have been struck with an idea. "We could even turn it into a small birthday dinner for you, as well! They have children, they'd love the idea!"

Uncle Vernon looked benevolently down on Harry, who was currently sitting stunned in his chair, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of a birthday dinner for _him._ True, it would only be because Uncle Vernon wanted to look like a family man in front of a possible client, but Harry would take what he could get.

"Alright, it's settled then," Uncle Vernon said, clapping his hands jovially. "I'll tell them that I invited them to celebrate your birthday because…at Grunnings, we like to think of clients as family!" Uncle Vernon seemed absolutely ecstatic at his own cleverness. "Excellent! Now, after we lead them into the lounge…"

* * *

After breakfast, Harry and Dudley went out in the backyard to open Harry's present. Uncle Vernon had left directly after breakfast to attend to a few last minute details about the dinner, and neither Harry nor Dudley wanted to be alone with Aunt Petunia.

As the summer had progressed, Aunt Petunia's antipathy toward her only child had only increased. Harry felt that he may not have helped matters, what with having bought Dudley what now seemed, in retrospect, like half of Zonkos for his birthday. The pranks seemed never ending with Aunt Petunia's disapproving, often angry or disgusted scowl at the end of them.

Dudley had caught on to this too, and had begun avoiding his mother whenever possible. Aunt Petunia had silently claimed the kitchen as her domain, and Dudley avoided it like the plague unless he was certain she wasn't home. Harry received a shock one day when he looked at one of the many pictures on the walls containing a younger Dudley. He still couldn't be labelled thin by any means, but compared to last year, Dudley was positively trim.

Even if Dudley hadn't been having a stellar time of it, Harry personally felt that this was the best summer he'd ever experienced. Aunt Petunia, while still snappish and rude to him, had expanded her horizons to being snappish and rude to everyone in the house, and it was much easier to bear when he wasn't alone in it. Uncle Vernon had been positively polite to him (which was somewhere in between doting on Dudley and fighting almost constantly with Aunt Petunia), and had apparently decided to simply leave Harry to himself whenever possible. Dudley, of course, had become quite friendly with Harry, despite not inviting him along to hang out with his old friends. Harry was actually quite relieved at this, and said nothing. Instead, he asked for use of Dudley's owl and wrote to his own friends. Dudley sometimes asked him to add a greeting from him, never having been very enthusiastic about the business of writing for pleasure, and Harry had also been 'gifted with the honour' of cleaning out Whitey's cage and feeding her for the summer, which he didn't really mind as much as he pretended to.

Hermione, Draco, Pansy and Blaise had promised him presents that were apparently supposed to arrive today, and Anthony had mentioned that he wasn't sure when Harry's present would be arriving, as he had owl-ordered it, and had told him to watch the skies.

At the moment, though, Harry was looking down at the present he had, rather than up for the presents he would be getting. This would be his first ever present, and he wanted to savour it. He and Dudley were sitting on the small bench in the yard now, and Dudley had a big grin on his face as he encouraged Harry to open it.

"Go on then," he said as Harry ripped open the wrapping and stared blankly at the contents.

"…Hairspray?" he asked faintly, holding the bottle in his hands in disbelief.

"Remember!" Dudley laughed, "On the train, they were all talking about buying you stuff for your hair!"

Harry couldn't help but smile a bit at the memory. He was honestly expecting Draco's present to be a mirror, although he wasn't sure if the rest of them would take the joking seriously.

"Anyway," Dudley said, still chuckling, "That's not your real present, I was just taking the mickey."

He pulled another, smaller box out of his pocket and handed it to Harry, who was overwhelmed. Two presents? And a birthday dinner? The Dursleys had never been this good to him, and Harry had no illusions about whose good will was causing it.

"Thank you, Dudley," Harry said fervently, looking down at the box in his hand.

"It's no big deal," Dudley said, waving his hand. "I wasn't just gonna get you hairspray."

Harry grinned at him and opened the box carefully.

"A watch?" Harry asked, lifting it out of the box and examining it.

"Yeah," Dudley hurried to explain. "I mean, you've had my old one forever, and this one's much nicer, the strap isn't taped together. And it's not even digital, so it'll work at Hogwarts."

"Thanks, Dudley," Harry said happily, taking off his old watch and putting on the new one. "It's really nice."

Dudley grinned at him and cuffed him on the arm. "Let's go watch the telly."

* * *

Over the course of the day, several owls came for Harry. The first was from Blaise, who had bought him his own practice Snitch with a note enclosed that told him to practice so that they'd win the cup, and that he should tell Pansy that Blaise had also bought him a brush.

The next was from Hermione, a large book of uncommon spells, in which she'd bookmarked sections she thought he'd be interested in, including cleaning, protective and defensive spells.

He sent both owls back with 'thank you's, and warned Blaise that he couldn't be held responsible if Pansy got the truth out of him.

At lunch, Dudley somehow convinced Harry to make them sandwiches. They ate in the backyard, and played with Harry's Snitch. Harry gave Dudley the remote for the television and told him to pretend to be controlling it while Harry chased it so that the neighbours wouldn't wonder.

That was the newest rule in the Dursley household: Don't let the neighbours see anything you can't explain. Uncle Vernon was fine with the other residents of Privet Drive thinking that his son had a pet bird and lots of cool gadgets, as long as they had no clue about the magical aspect of it all.

Harry noticed Aunt Petunia giving him a dark look from the kitchen window at one point, and that was when the Snitch got put away. He knew that she had never agreed with Uncle Vernon's reasoning about the neighbours, and would prefer that Dudley didn't have a bird, and that they kept all their 'gadgets' in their trunks. Aunt Petunia was not adjusting well to magic, and anyone could see that she resented Uncle Vernon for welcoming it so easily into their home. Harry knew that that was the source of his Aunt and Uncle's constant fighting, and although Dudley sometimes wasn't the brightest of boys, Harry could tell that his cousin had also made the connection.

They sat quietly for a bit after the Snitch game was over. Another owl fluttered down, this one from Pansy, and delivered a smallish box and a note. In the note, she wished him a happy birthday and informed him that the box was the sort that had expansion charms on the inside, and that it was a useful sort of thing and so he should save it. She also told him that she had no doubt that Blaise had not gotten him a brush as he'd promised, and that she expected him to actually use the one she had enclosed.

Harry smiled to himself and decided not to open it in the backyard, as this was the sort of thing that Uncle Vernon would _not_ approve of the neighbours seeing. He put it in his pocket along with the note for later.

* * *

Harry sat awkwardly across from Mr. Mason as he tried very hard not to listen to the argument going on in the kitchen. The group in the dining room (Harry, Dudley, and the Masons) were able to catch faint snatches of what was starting to sound like a very serious fight.

"…don't care…you just….."

"…unreasonable! ….how important….to me…"

"I don't….I won't pretend…those freaks….!"

Harry looked over at Dudley, who was much less used to this sort of attitude from Aunt Petunia. Sure enough, he looked very upset. The Masons, on the other hand, were furious.

"How dare she!" Mrs. Mason hissed. "I have never been so insulted! In all my days…"

"You are absolutely right, dear," Mr. Mason agreed, folding his napkin up and standing. "We are _leaving_." He turned to Harry. "I apologise, dear boy, if we have ruined your birthday. Clearly your aunt is unable to tolerate our presence. Tell your uncle that we will not bother him again."

Harry wanted to stop them, just a little bit. Uncle Vernon had spoken of nothing but this dinner party for weeks, and Harry had learned young that an unhappy Uncle Vernon did not bode well for him. But what would he say? No, don't worry Mr. Mason. She's just talking about us. She doesn't think you're a freak. Just her son and nephew.

He didn't think that would go over much better, to be honest. So instead, he apologised for his aunt as he led them to the door and handed them their coats.

"She's just been having a hard time recently," he tried as they stood on the doorstep. "Don't blame my uncle for it."

Mrs. Mason smiled at them, as Dudley had followed Harry to the door, looking upset and lost.

"You're sweet children," she said, "But your aunt and uncle seem to have several issues they need to work out."

"Too right," Mr. Mason agreed gruffly. "Can't expect a man to focus on business when he needs to be concentrating on his family."

They wished Harry a happy birthday once more, and left. Harry and Dudley went back to the dining room and finished their dinners, and when Uncle Vernon came back to apologise and found his guests gone, the fighting started all over again. Harry left the plates on the table and dragged Dudley upstairs, away from it.

They spent the rest of the night in Dudley's room, Dudley flipping absently through the channels on the television and turning up the volume when ever the yelling got particularly loud. Harry looked through the box from Pansy, and even got Dudley to laugh at the bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Even though the potions and brush were meant as his real present, Harry thought the box was much more interesting and distracted Dudley by betting him that he could fit his dresser in it. They spent a while trying to lift the dresser, which was filled with toys and clothing, and was therefore immensely heavy. Eventually they gave up and collapsed, and Harry made them both feel better by pointing out that even if they had managed to do it, they would still have had to get the dresser _out_ later.

It was nearing eleven by this point, and the only sound from downstairs was the television. Harry said goodnight to Dudley and went to his own room, where an eagle owl was waiting on his desk with a long, thin package. Harry untied the package and it hopped away from him, ruffling it's feathers irritably.

He pointed it toward Whitey's cage, and she bristled and hooted condescendingly at him. He sighed and went out to the bathroom to get the new owl some water. As he made his way back to his room, he saw Aunt Petunia disappearing back into her own bedroom with an armful of something.

He wondered about it as he went back to his room, but soon forgot as he contemplated his present. This one was from Draco, and Harry had a very good idea of what it was. Despite that, he was still surprised when, after he'd unwrapped it and set it upright on his desk, it snapped at him to straighten his collar. Harry grinned bemusedly at it and did as he was told. It then asked him to do something about his hair, which prompted him to explain that he was just about to go to bed anyway.

"That is absolutely no reason to look so scruffy," the mirror huffed as he turned his back on it and began to get changed.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry agreed absently, suddenly realizing he hadn't seen a note and going back to the wrapping paper for a look. It was a short letter, wishing him a happy birthday and telling him Draco would see them next Wednesday, and that he and Dudley were to meet them at the Leaky Cauldron at noon. He also assured Harry that he'd be tucking in his shirt automatically by September. Draco seemed very amused by the idea.

Harry made a face as he tossed the note back down on the desk and climbed into bed. He wasn't sure if he was going to like this present or not.

* * *


	14. The Return

**

* * *

**The next morning, when they woke up, Aunt Petunia was gone.

Harry had gone downstairs, early as always (although he was dressed much neater than usual), and found Uncle Vernon sitting at the table in the dining room with a bottle and a note sitting in front of him. _'Vernon, I'm sorry,' _the note said._ 'I can't handle it anymore.'_

Harry felt like he'd been sucker punched. It shouldn't have been so much of a surprise, with the summer they'd had, and it shouldn't have affected Harry as much as it did, with the history he had with his Aunt, but it was, and it did.

Despite the way they'd treated him, his Aunt and Uncle had always been _together_. It had been something he'd always just known, a fact of his life. They'd been united in their distaste for him, and now that that was no longer the case, Harry wasn't sure what to do. Uncle Vernon didn't seem to be handling it any better; on the contrary, he was taking it much, much worse. Harry looked down at the floor and saw that the bottle Uncle Vernon was currently finishing off was by no means his first.

Then a thought occurred to him. Dudley didn't know yet. Dudley was going to take this far worse than either of them. Harry only had to deal with his shock, and while Uncle Vernon was losing his wife, Dudley was losing his mother. And what she'd written in her letter made it even worse than just that.

'_I can't handle it anymore. I want to be able to remember him as normal, not as one of those freaks.'_

She couldn't have made it clearer that it was Dudley's fault that she'd left. He was going to take this horribly.

* * *

"Why, Harry?" Dudley yelled, throwing one of his schoolbooks at his television.

Harry had been right. Dudley was taking this horribly. They were upstairs in Dudley's room again, after Uncle Vernon had broken the news to him. He had refused to let Dudley read the letter, though, which Harry thought was probably a good move, even if Dudley already seemed to know why she'd gone.

"She never seemed to have a problem with you having magic!" he continued angrily, kicking his wall. "She didn't even yell at you after your letter came! Why did she start hating me?"

"I don't think she _hated_ you, Dudley," Harry tried to reason, ducking a video game case and wondering if he was telling his cousin a lie. "I think she just couldn't handle your having magic."

"But why was it okay for you to have magic?" Dudley asked, sinking suddenly down onto his bed. He looked on the verge of tears. "Why did she start ignoring you and hating me?"

Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't say it wasn't Dudley's fault, because Aunt Petunia had made it abundantly clear in her letter that it _was_ his fault.

"I think she was used to me, Dudley, and she never liked me in the first place," Harry explained, having accepted this long ago. "You were a shock…"

Dudley put his head in his hands, and Harry tentatively put an arm around his shoulder. "It's not fair." he muttered. Harry nodded sympathetically.

* * *

Dudley sat in the backseat of the car, sulking as they drove toward London. Harry tried to remind him that this time, it wasn't one of Uncle Vernon's 'let's spoil Dudley so he'll forget his mother left him' trips, and that they were going for school supplies in Diagon Alley with Draco. Dudley didn't seem to care very much. He'd been like this since Aunt Petunia left, and Uncle Vernon had taken the week off and thrown himself into making he and Dudley feel better. The problem with this was that he had no idea how, and so the past several days had been filled with a very hung-over Uncle Vernon taking Dudley on constant field trips to various amusement parks, zoos and restaurants. Harry was even allowed to come sometimes, if it looked to Uncle Vernon like Dudley might appreciate it.

"Alright, here we are," Uncle Vernon said, pulling over in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "I'll be back to pick you up around five." He pulled out his wallet and handed Dudley a large wad of cash. "Make sure you get everything you need, son."

Harry and Dudley got out of the car, Harry putting his hand in his pocket to make sure his key was still there. When his Hogwarts letter had come, Harry had written back to Dumbledore, inquiring about any money his parents might have left him. The reply was this key and an explanation that it was meant for when he was ready to strike out on his own, and a caution to not use the money frivolously. Harry had told Uncle Vernon that Filch paid very well, and that he would probably be able to afford his own schooling from now on, and Uncle Vernon was happy enough to not be paying for him that he didn't bother questioning it, and even told Harry he had until he had finished at Hogwarts to pay him back for first year. Harry thought this very generous of him.

They stepped inside the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry immediately spotted Draco near the other exit, waiting impatiently with what must be his father. The hair was unmistakeable. He and Dudley made their way over to say hello.

"Hello Harry, Dudley," Draco said politely.

"Hi, Draco," Harry responded in turn. Dudley echoed him unenthusiastically.

"I would like you to meet my father, Lucius Malfoy," Draco said, looking up at his father. "Father, this is Harry Potter and his cousin, Dudley Dursley."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly, extending a hand for Harry to shake. He didn't look at Dudley at all. "I have heard much of you from my son. He tells me you're quite the Slytherin."

Harry blinked. "Er, yes, thank you," he said uncertainly, looking at Draco, who shrugged behind his father's back and mouthed 'act snooty'. Harry bit his lip and straightened his posture.

"Draco has told me much about you as well, sir," Harry tried, using the most pretentious voice he thought he could get away with. Then he wracked his brains for things Draco had said about his father. Eventually, he gave up and made something up. "I'm proud to be associated with such a prestigious family."

Mr. Malfoy seemed approving of his response, in any case. "No, Mr. Potter, it is my family that is honoured that you would consider us allies."

Harry was beginning to hope this conversation would end soon. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Please, Mr. Potter, call me Lucius."

Harry wondered what to say to that, if he was supposed to tell Mr. Malfoy to call him Harry. He supposed it wouldn't hurt and tried it.

"Excellent," Mr. Malfoy said with a satisfied nod. "I have business to attend to today. Draco, remember that you and Harry are to meet me at Flourish and Blotts at four o'clock." He turned to Harry again and gave a smile that worried him a bit. "Enjoy your day, Harry."

And with that, he was gone.

Harry gave Draco a bewildered look. Draco laughed at him, looking much more at ease than he had five minutes ago. "Well. That was my father. What did you think?"

"I feel like I signed a contract I'm going to regret later," Harry said uncertainly, following Draco and Dudley out to the alley. "Why did he ignore Dudley?"

Draco looked slightly uncomfortable at this question. "Er…that could be because I told him a while ago that you don't like your cousin… Or because Dudley's a muggleborn…sorry Dudley."

Dudley made a noise in the back of his throat and continued trailing along behind them. Draco looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Is he still upset about…"

Harry nodded. He'd mentioned Aunt Petunia's leaving in a letter, which Draco had responded to in shock that a muggle be anything but awed by magic.

"I…sorry about your mum," Draco said hesitantly. Dudley made the noise again and continued following them.

"That means 'thank you'," Harry whispered, and Draco laughed a little bit.

"Gringotts first?" Draco asked. Harry nodded, and they set off for the white marble landmark in the distance.

* * *

Diagon Alley actually managed to cheer Dudley up to the point that he was talking in full sentences, to Harry's relief. Gringotts had jumpstarted this, as Dudley hadn't seen the goblins last time, and neither of them had taken the ride down to a vault, which Dudley proclaimed later to be better than any roller coaster.

They wandered around the various shops, restocking their supplies. Dudley needed new robes, and Draco wanted a new pair of gloves, so they stopped off at Madam Malkin's as well. Harry even bought them all ice cream cones at one point. As four o'clock approached, they made their way to the bookstore, which was overflowing with people.

"What's with the crowd?" Dudley asked, struggling to keep up with Harry and Draco as they slipped in the door.

"Some poncy author is doing a book signing," Draco explained, pointing at a banner stretched across the windows.

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry read. "Never heard of him."

"He actually is pretty famous," Draco told them, grabbing them each a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, _which allowed them to escape upstairs, away from the crowd. "Not to mention he wrote most of the booklist, which you'd know if you even looked at it. Bet you a galleon our new Defense teacher fancies him." He darted a look at Harry. "Let's just wait until Father arrives to get those."

"Sure," Harry agreed, leaning against the bookshelf behind him. "How was your summer, then?"

"It was decent," Draco said dismissively. "How do you like your mirror?"

Harry grimaced at him. "It argues with me every morning. I've spent hours trying to convince it that my hair isn't getting any neater, but it just doesn't stop." He stood up straight and opened his arms so that Draco could see his clothing. "Look at how neat I am now! It doesn't let me leave the room until I've tucked my shirt in!"

Draco had been snickering at him throughout his explanation, and even Dudley was grinning.

"He refuses to use the stuff Pansy sent him," Dudley revealed. "That's why the mirror keeps bugging him."

Harry scowled at him. "I don't think it would do any good," he said to Draco, who was now laughing at him with Dudley. "Both of you stuff it."

Draco smirked at him once more, then looked down at the crowd below them.

"There's Father, come on," he said, heading for the landing. Harry watched his back straighten as they walked down the stairs.

"There you are, good." Mr. Malfoy eyed the crowd distastefully. "Have you found all your books?"

"We still need the Lockhart ones," Draco said, and Mr. Malfoy cast a disdainful eye up at the table where Lockhart was grinning toothily and winking at the crowd.

"Hurry up, then," Mr. Malfoy said, and the three boys shoved their way toward Lockhart's table, which was near where the books were stocked, and grabbed a copy each.

"This is ridiculous," Draco muttered, trying to balance the books already in his arms while adding more. "We don't need this many books for one class."

Harry couldn't help but agree as he was bumped into by a man dancing around Lockhart with a camera, causing him to drop all his books.

"Watch where you're going, these are for the Daily Prophet," the cameraman snarled at him. Harry rolled his eyes and bent down to pick up all his books.

He stood up, balancing his books and darting a glance around to make sure he wouldn't be knocked over again. Lockhart looked up from a book just in time to meet Harry's eye, causing his own to widen.

"Why, it simply _can__'__t _be _Harry Po_- "

"Come along, boys," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly, appearing out of nowhere and blocking Harry from Lockhart's line of sight. He ushered the three of them toward the register and paid for their books, nodding at Harry and Dudley's uncertain thanks. He then levitated all of their purchases for them and ushered them immediately out of the store, so that by the time everyone realized that Lockhart had spotted _the Harry Potter_, they were already long gone.

* * *

Dudley was a bit better after Diagon Alley, but not for long. By the end of that week, he'd regressed right back to monosyllabic responses and general silence.

Uncle Vernon decided that Dudley was happier doing non-muggle things, and so when Dudley mentioned one day that he'd accidentally broken one of his ink bottles and ruined one of his Lockhart books, Uncle Vernon suggested going back to Diagon Alley and getting him another one. Harry stayed home, as there were only two weeks left till school started, and Hermione had begun each letter she sent him lately with 'have you finished your homework yet?'

Dudley did seem to be in a better mood when they got back, and when Harry waved a quill at him in greeting and told him that Hermione had said hello in her most recent letter, he flushed, grabbed his own homework, and sat down at the table next to Harry to get started.

After that, Dudley seemed to improve somewhat. While he was still upset over Aunt Petunia, he didn't seem to be brooding over it as much. He did spend large amounts of time in his room on his own, but when Harry checked on him once, under the pretence of bringing him a sandwich, he found Dudley writing. He didn't see what, but he assumed homework, as Dudley sometimes paused for a few moments, as though thinking or reading what he had just written, before scribbling more.

The rest of the summer passed without note, and soon Dudley and Harry were at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, saying goodbye to Uncle Vernon. He and Dudley hugged, and Uncle Vernon gave Harry a look that said '_keep an eye on him__'_. Harry nodded. They were both still a bit worried about Dudley.

After passing through the barrier and finding a compartment, Harry settled down to keep an eye out the window for their friends, and Dudley pulled out a small book and began writing, to Harry's confusion.

"Still doing homework, Dudley?" he asked.

Dudley finished what he was writing and looked up at Harry defensively.

"No," he said with a frown. "I'm just writing. Got a problem?"

Harry blinked at this unexpectedly acerbic response, and Dudley went back to his book.

By the time the train was pulling out of the station, Hermione, Blaise, Pansy and Draco had all found them, and had all learned quickly not to ask Dudley what he was writing. Even an absently curious response evoked a glare from him, and they quickly left him alone and discussed their summers instead.

"I didn't do much," Hermione told them. "Spent time with my parents, they took me to plays and movies and things, and I did my homework. That's about it, really."

"Well, at least you're back with your own kind now," Draco said consolingly. Everyone in the compartment (with the exception of Dudley, who was still writing) stared at him, and Hermione looked offended.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Draco seemed to realize he'd put his foot in it, but soldiered on. "Well, you know, you're back with witches and wizards, so you don't have to deal with…the muggles…"

Hermione opened her mouth angrily, and Harry knew she was about to start a tirade. He did nothing to stop her, however, feeling a bit shocked that Draco would say something so rude. Unfortunately, Blaise interrupted before she could say a word.

"You'll have to excuse Draco," he told her with a charming smile. "He can sometimes be a bit…tactless." He glared at Draco.

Draco glared back at him, but didn't say anything, having realized how fine a line he was walking, especially when he turned to Harry and saw that he was no happier with Draco than Hermione was.

"So, Harry," Pansy said loudly. "Did Sleekeazy's work?"

Harry allowed the topic change with a groan. "No, It didn't."

"That would explain why you aren't using it now," Pansy nodded. Harry shook his head, intending to explain that even if it _had_ worked, he wouldn't use it all the time.

"Actually," Draco said tentatively, trying to ignore Blaise, who seemed be watching to make sure Draco didn't say any more stupid things, "Dudley told me he didn't even try it. He argued about it with his mirror all the time, apparently."

"Really?" Pansy smiled sweetly at Harry, who slid as far away from her as possible on the seats while shooting Draco a glare. "We'll just have to give it a try, then. Lucky that I have some in my trunk."

Harry's eyes widened, and he had just stood up to excuse himself to the loo for the rest of the trip when the doors slid open.

"Vince, Greg?" Pansy asked, having also stood to stop Harry and get her trunk down from the rack. "What are you two doing here?"

"Er," Draco said uncomfortably. Everyone looked at him again. "They're here for me. They're supposed to…." He trailed off, muttering the rest. Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, clearly having heard more than the rest of them.

"Bodyguards, Draco?" he asked incredulously. Everyone stared at Crabbe and Goyle now, who were standing in the doorway, waiting to be allowed inside.

"It wasn't exactly my idea," Draco said defensively. "I told Father I don't need bodyguards, but he said I have to have them anyway."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, and it was clear that she still wasn't pleased with Draco. "They can't be expected to follow you around and obey your every whim. They have their own lives to worry about!"

"That's what I said," Draco agreed uncomfortably. "Well, not really," he added after a moment. "But that's what I thought. Unfortunately, Father doesn't agree with us. You two can just sit over there and play cards or something," he said, addressing this to Crabbe and Goyle, who did just that, Crabbe pulling a pack of playing cards out of his pocket as they sat.

Hermione scowled at him. The next hour was spent in an uncomfortable silence, only broken when Blaise challenged Harry to a chess match and Harry lost horribly.

"You're pathetic, Harry," Blaise said in amusement, setting up the pieces again. "I'm going to teach you strategy if it kills me. Draco, give me a hand here."

"Sure," Draco said, leaning over Harry's shoulder to look at the board. "Pawn to D5."

"I didn't ask you to play for him!" Blaise exclaimed. "Harry, why would Draco want to make that particular move?"

Harry eyed the board in concentration. "Because he wants to kill my poor pawn?"

Draco made an affronted noise and shoved him a bit.

"If I sacrifice that pawn, Harry, that means that you're in position to take his bishop without any casualties."

"Aside from my pawn," Harry corrected.

"Yes, aside from your pawn," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "That's how you play the game, Harry."

"But isn't there a way to do that where my pawn doesn't have to explode into tiny little pieces, Draco?"

Draco considered this. "Well, maybe if we sacrifice it to the rook instead. He doesn't have a mace, anyway."

"Why does that game have to be so violent?" Hermione asked from her seat across from them.

"Because Harry's too soft-hearted," Blaise said jokingly, watching Harry wince as his pawn was decimated. "We'll get him over that soon enough."

"If they didn't _scream _like that," Harry said, moving the pawn mournfully off the board and taking Blaise's bishop.

"My father has a chess set," Pansy said from her seat next to Hermione. "His pieces don't scream."

"My father has one too," Hermione agreed. "His don't kill each other horribly. Taking the piece is symbolic. You just tap it and move it off the board."

"Yes, well," Blaise said amiably, killing one of Harry's knights. "When Harry gets his own set, maybe they'll just tap each other and dance off the board. And maybe they won't scream. But mine do."

"So do mine," Draco agreed. "It's more fun that way."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something about boys.

"Oh, hey, that reminds me," Draco said. "One of the house elves insisted on coming to Hogwarts with me this year."

Harry glanced at him askance. "Talking about screaming chess pieces reminds you of your house elf?"

"He's a bit odd," Draco explained, looking embarrassed.

"Right," Blaise said sceptically. "So, your house elf _insisted _on coming with you?"

"He did!" Draco exclaimed. "I swear it. Halfway through summer, he started dropping hints, and eventually he just asked outright if he could come along. _Then_ he went to Father and told him that it would keep me from bothering the house elves at school and that he'd be able to keep a _better eye_ on me."

Pansy snickered at him, and Draco threw her an annoyed glare.

"He sounds fun," Blaise said. "What's his name? Think he'd do stuff for us too?"

"His name is Dobby," Draco said sullenly. "And he'll only do things for you if I tell him to. He is mine, after all."

Pansy now appeared to be explaining to Hermione exactly what a house elf was, and when she finished, Hermione didn't look happy. "So, essentially, you've brought your slave to school with you?" she asked Draco with a frown.

Draco blinked. "He's not exactly my slave, no…"

"But he works for you?" she asked. He nodded. "And you don't pay him?" He nodded again. "Sounds like a slave to me," she concluded angrily. "Didn't that practice die out in the eighteen hundreds?"

"But this is different," Draco tried to explain. "He's not human, Hermione, he's a house elf."

"Oh, so that makes it alright?" she asked incredulously. "That's a horrible attitude!"

"No, no, you don't understand," Blaise said, trying to calm her. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Have you ever heard of brownies, Hermione?"

She nodded slowly.

"House elves are directly related to them," Blaise explained. "They help around the house, obey orders, prefer not to be seen, and are happy if you feed them and give them a place to stay."

"Yes," Hermione said impatiently, "But -"

"What does a brownie do if you try to pay it?" Blaise asked her. She frowned.

"In myths, it becomes offended and…" Her eyes widened. "Oh…"

Blaise nodded in satisfaction. "Exactly."

Hermione blushed slightly. "Never mind then," she said in a small voice.

The rest of the train ride passed peacefully, if a bit awkwardly. Crabbe and Goyle didn't really make much noise, and everyone forgot they were there until it was time to get off the train and they immediately flanked Draco.

"Do you mind, Vince?" Blaise asked. "I usually walk here."

Harry was walking slightly ahead of Draco on his other side, which meant that he was in danger of having his feet stepped on by Goyle almost constantly. Hermione was still in the compartment with Pansy and Dudley, and seemed to have gotten over her issue with Crabbe and Goyle too. She was over it enough to laugh at them all, in any case.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Pansy finally said. "You two don't have to be inches away from him at all times. If you really want to, just follow all of us."

Crabbe and Goyle looked to Draco, who nodded in exasperation. They fell back and waited for the rest of them to leave the compartment.

"Bodyguards for a twelve year old," Hermione muttered as she passed them. "Most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

_

* * *

__  
_


	15. The 'Discussions'

* * *

The Sorting flew by that night, and before they knew it, Blaise, Draco and Harry were trudging back to their room with Crabbe and Goyle once again following at a short distance.

"This is going to get annoying very quickly," Blaise said, glancing back at them.

"I agree," Harry said significantly. They both looked at Draco.

"What do you expect me to do?" he asked defensively. "If I tell them to go away, I'll get in trouble!"

"At least tell them they don't need to follow you around in Slytherin," Blaise suggested. "Your father couldn't possibly find fault with that."

Draco grumbled a bit, then called them over and told them exactly that. Crabbe frowned a bit, looking confused, but Goyle nodded and they both set off in the direction of the dormitory.

"Thank Merlin," Blaise said, sinking down onto a couch by the fire. " Now, let's meet this Dobby so you can tell him to do our bidding."

Harry laughed and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Dobby!"

With a crack, a floppy eared, long nosed house elf appeared and bowed. "Master Draco is wanting something?"

"Hey, _Master Draco_," Blaise teased. "Can I get a bit of that treacle tart we had at dinner?"

Draco waved him off and spoke to Dobby. "Dobby, these are my friends, Harry and Blaise. Do what they tell you, alright?"

"Yes Master Draco," said Dobby, who had already been staring at Harry. "You is friends with the Great Harry Potter!"

"You knew that already, Dobby, remember?" Draco said, shaking his head.

"Yes, Dobby is knowing that sir," Dobby squeaked excitedly. "And Dobby is proud to serve the Great Harry Potter for Master Draco! If Master Draco is friends with the Great Harry Potter, Master Draco must be a much better wizard than Dobby ever knew!"

Blaise was rolling on the couch in laughter, and Harry blushed furiously.

"Could you maybe convince him to not call me that, Draco?" he asked hopefully.

"Call you what, Harry?" Draco asked innocently. "It's just your name, after all."

Blaise snorted. "Does the Great Harry Potter not like his own name?"

"Sod off, Blaise," Harry said, feeling a bit mortified. "Draco, please ask him to not call me that."

"We've always had a problem convincing him to change what he calls us," Draco said with a smirk. "He called me 'Little Master Draco' until I was nine. Making him drop the 'Little' was difficult. Try asking him yourself."

Harry looked down at Dobby, who was looking up at him with shining eyes. He looked at Draco again, who waved him on with a grin.

"Dobby," he said hopefully. "Could you please maybe just call me Harry?"

"The Great Harry Potter is so humble!" Dobby said reverently. "He even says 'please' to Dobby! Dobby does not deserve such kindness!"

"Yes, but Dobby, could you pl- I mean, could you possibly just call me Harry?" he tried. "I don't think you need to call me 'Great', is all."

"The Great Harry Potter is so modest, too!" Dobby said joyfully. "Dobby will do anything the Great Harry Potter wishes of him!"

Blaise and Draco were cackling behind them. Even the portrait above the fireplace was snickering at him.

"But could you -"

"Hey," Blaise choked out through his laughter. "Could the Great Harry Potter possibly see a way to having Dobby get me some treacle tart?"

Harry sighed. "Dobby, never mind. My pig of a friend here would like some treacle tart. Could you…?"

Dobby's eyes brightened. "Anything for the Great Harry Potter!" he turned to Blaise and said, "The Great Harry Potter's Pig of a Friend will have all the treacle tart he desires!"

Dobby disappeared with a crack, and Harry grinned at Blaise.

"So, 'the Great Harry Potter's Pig of a Friend'," Draco said with an evil grin to match Harry's. "You do realise he'll be calling you that for as long as you know him now, right?"

Blaise had been staring at the spot where Dobby had been with an incredulous sort of hilarity.

"He'll actually _call_ me that?" he asked with a grin. Draco nodded. "I can't tell if I should laugh or…"

"You could help me convince him to change his mind," Harry said hopefully. Blaise laughed at him.

"Not likely. I'm going to enjoy watching your failed attempts. Hey!"

A plate of treacle tart had appeared quite suddenly on Blaise's lap, complete with fork and napkin.

Blaise grinned. "I could get used to this," he said, digging in. In the short silence that followed, Harry decided to ask Draco something that had been bothering him since the train ride.

"Draco, why did you say that to Hermione?" he asked. Draco knew exactly what he meant, and flushed.

"I just thought -"

"No you didn't," Blaise interrupted from behind his treacle tart. Draco glared at him.

"Alright, maybe I didn't. I probably shouldn't have said that to her."

"No," Harry agreed, "You shouldn't have."

"She's going to find out eventually, though," Draco said uncomfortably. "That most wizards don't like muggles and muggleborns. Marrying them dilutes your magical blood, it shouldn't even happen."

Blaise had stopped eating his treacle tart halfway through this speech, eyes wide, and looked as though he wanted to hit Draco over the head with it to stop him from talking.

Harry stared at Draco. "So marrying muggleborns is a bad thing?"

Draco looked worried, but nodded uncertainly. Blaise shook his head slowly, covering his mouth with his hand as though watching a train wreck.

"So," Harry continued angrily. "What you're saying is, that it's a bad thing that my parents got married, and it's a bad thing that I was born?"

Draco's eyes widened, and he shook his head immediately. "No! That's not what I meant at all!"

"It's what you said, though," Harry said coldly. "You said my mother, being muggleborn, should never have married my father. Which means I should never have been born."

Draco shook his head again, and stood up when Harry did.

"Harry, that's not what I meant," he insisted uneasily.

"It's certainly what you said, though," Harry replied, and went upstairs, feeling deeply offended and very upset. He changed into his pyjamas and got into bed, pulling the curtains immediately. He didn't open them till morning.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Blaise took Draco's usual spot next to Harry, and Pansy took the seat on his other side.

"I told Draco he was being an idiot," Blaise tried. Harry glared at his pancakes.

"You think?"

"He feels really guilty," Blaise said after a moment of silence. Harry looked up and realized that Draco hadn't come to breakfast. He was probably trying to avoid Harry's yelling at him again.

"He should feel really guilty, Blaise!" Harry said furiously. "Can you believe he said that about my parents?"

"If it makes you feel any better, he didn't mean it about you or your parents personally," Pansy said reassuringly. "He sometimes just doesn't think. I don't know why he was spouting all that pureblood stuff yesterday, but I'm pretty sure he won't do it again. Blaise yelled at him, and when I found out, I yelled at him too."

"Does he still believe it?" Harry asked. He looked at Pansy and Blaise. "You're both pureblooded too. Do you believe it?"

Blaise allowed himself a smirk. "I don't exactly come from a traditional pureblood family, Harry." Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and he answered the question. "No, I don't believe it."

Harry looked to Pansy for her answer. She seemed to be thinking about how to phrase it. "I don't _really _buy into it, Harry," she said slowly. "But what you have to understand, is that it _is_ traditional pureblood thinking. All the really old families that still follow the old customs do believe in it. A lot of it doesn't make sense, like purebloods being smarter. Compare Vince and Greg to Hermione, for example. But it gives them power, like in the last war, so no one really challenges them about it."

Harry grimaced. "Draco seemed smarter than that, though," he said. "He didn't have a problem with me, Hermione _or_ Dudley last year."

"Harry, he doesn't have a problem with you!" Pansy exclaimed. "You're his best friend! He probably assumed you would agree with him."

"I think we said it already," Blaise reminded him. "Draco can be extremely stupid sometimes."

Harry nodded emphatically. "He really can. But I don't know if I can be friends with him if he thinks so little of me, what with my being muggleborn."

"Halfblood," Pansy corrected him. At his stare, she frowned defensively. "What? Just because I don't believe it, doesn't mean I don't know it. Your father was pure and your mother was muggleborn, so you're halfblood. Your children would be first generation pure if you married right, so purebloods don't really have a problem with you."

"That's ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "You sound like my Aunt Marge, breeding dogs!"

"Don't let Draco hear you say that," Blaise muttered under his breath.

"You, Blaise, are not helping," Pansy said, reaching past Harry to poke him.

Blaise shied away from her and smiled winningly at Harry. "He really is sorry," he said convincingly. "He spent last night and this morning getting yelled at and he looked absolutely horrified at what he'd said to you from the very start of it."

Harry was slightly mollified. "Really?"

"Really," Blaise confirmed. "He's probably kicking himself like a house elf for it right now, and that's why he didn't come to breakfast."

"Alright then," Harry said, and, feeling a bit more cheerful, finished his breakfast.

* * *

The end of that day found Harry studying with Hermione, Dudley and Neville. Draco had apologised to Harry profusely, and promised that he had meant absolutely no offence in what he'd said. Harry had given him a tentative forgiveness, as long as Draco promised not to say anything of the sort to him again.

Which brought him to where he was, Hermione's first study session of the year. Harry hadn't even been surprised that it was on their first day back in classes. This was Hermione, after all. Dudley and Neville certainly weren't going to argue about it. Indeed, Dudley was writing furiously, although it was in his little book rather than on his homework.

After saying hello, Neville and Hermione immediately launched into a description of their first Defense class, which the Slytherins didn't have until tomorrow.

"…hung me from the chandelier!"

"He was only trying to give us a bit of hands on practice, Neville!"

"Then why did he run away after he set the pixies loose?"

Hermione flushed. "Well clearly, he had to retrieve his wand…"

Harry was intrigued. "What happened to his wand?"

"…"

"One of the pixies threw it out the window!" Neville said, shooting Hermione a victorious grin. "It was ridiculous!"

Harry laughed. Hermione frowned at him. "I wouldn't be so hasty," she told him stiffly. "He did give us a test first thing."

Harry looked at her in horror, but Neville laughed. "And what was the first question?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione flushed. "He was just making sure we'd really read the books!"

Neville raised his eyebrows at her. "Do we really need to know his favourite colour?"

Harry laughed. "That wasn't really the question, was it?"

Neville nodded, grinning at him. Harry was suddenly struck by something.

"You're in an awfully…good mood today, Neville," he noted. Neville was normally very quiet, so this boisterous behaviour was a contrast to the boy Harry had gotten used to last year.

"We had Herbology first thing today," Neville said cheerfully. "It's my favourite subject."

"And Professor Sprout adores him," Hermione said with a smile. "He got us all sorts of points."

Neville gave her a pleased grin. "That reminds me," he said. "Ron Weasley wants to join our study group, Hermione. I invited him today, but he said something about it being first day back and that I was crazy. I told him we meet here on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, he might be around tomorrow."

Hermione seemed to consider it.

"I suppose so," she said reluctantly. "But make sure he understands how things work here. He has to be polite."

"Hey, Dudley," Harry said, trying to rouse Dudley from his book. "How did you like Lockhart?"

Dudley looked up at him and blinked as though he'd only just realized Harry was there. "It was fine," he said absently, and went back to his book.

Harry frowned.

"He's been like that since school started," Neville whispered. "The other boys in Gryffindor tried talking to him yesterday, and he snapped at them. That's part of why I invited Ron, because he was so offended and I didn't want him to think Dudley just didn't like him. Hermione and I are getting worried about him. Was he doing it during the summer, too?"

"Not really," Harry said, watching his cousin with concern. "After his mum left, he was really depressed, you know, but he seemed to get over it a bit. Then he started spending a lot of time in his room doing what I thought was his homework, but was probably writing in that book, now that I think about it."

"What kind of book is that?" Hermione asked him. "Where did he get it?"

"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "He must have bought it in Diagon Alley. He and Uncle Vernon went there without me a few times, so I don't know when."

"Do you think it's cursed?" Neville asked them in concern. "They're pretty common, you know. Some of them don't let you stop reading once you've picked them up. My Great Uncle had one, he didn't ever let me touch it."

"So Dudley could have one that won't let him stop writing?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Where would he have gotten it?"

"Not a clue," Harry said, shaking his head. "Like I said, I only went there with him once in the summer, and Uncle Vernon will buy Dudley anything he wants. _He _wouldn't know the difference, anyway. Listen," he said, looking at Dudley again, who was still scribbling away in his little book, completely oblivious to their whispered conversation. "Do you think it could just be a normal book, and he's just not taking what happened well? My Aunt was really…horrible about it when she left. I can't imagine it's been easy for him to get over it."

"You know him better than we do," Hermione said. "If you think he'd react like this normally…"

"I don't know," Harry said in frustration. Dudley had never had any issues he couldn't wheedle and demand his way out of before Hogwarts. This could just be Dudley. The thought was worrying.

"Let's just keep an eye on him, then," Hermione said. "He didn't take the book out during Herbology today, and when he did during Transfiguration, he put it away when Professor McGonagall told him to. As long as he's eating, sleeping, and doing his homework, I don't think we should worry about him too much. It could just be his way of dealing with things."

* * *

The Slytherin's first Defence class began with a test, true to Hermione's prediction. And just as Neville had said, it was positively ridiculous.

"I answered each question with a question," Blaise revealed afterward. "'_What's Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?'_ 'How is this going to help me defend against the Dark Arts?' '_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?'_ 'If you just went about publishing it in a book, how could it be secret?'"

After the test, though, Lockhart didn't set pixies on them or anything exciting like that. He seemed to have learned from the Gryffindors, and instead read them a passage from his book until the bell rang.

"I hope the rest of the year isn't going to be like that," Draco sneered as they left, Crabbe and Goyle trailing them unobtrusively. "That was pathetic."

Harry and Blaise agreed emphatically. Pansy shrugged.

"At least he's pretty to look at," she said. All three of her friends stared at her. "What?" she asked defensively. "I'm a girl. What did you expect? He _is_ pretty to look at."

"What about the fact that he's clearly an pompous fraud?" Blaise asked her. "Does that factor in at all?"

"Well I never said he couldn't be a fraud," Pansy said dismissively. "He's just a pretty fraud. Which makes my year a bit easier. Knowing that he's a fraud, I don't have to pay attention to a single word that comes out his pretty head."

Harry made a face at her and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'm just making the best of things," she smirked, and they followed her to lunch, shaking their heads.

_

* * *

__  
_


	16. The Voice

* * *

"…_let me kill you…"_

"What?" Harry stood up and looked around. It was late Saturday night, which was the night he worked for Filch. Harry was currently cleaning the second floor girl's bathroom. There was a ghost haunting one of the toilets, and she took pleasure in flooding the whole bathroom occasionally, which meant that Harry had to come in and clean it all up while the taps dripped and she sobbed and moaned in the far corner.

Couple that with the voice he'd just heard, and the whole situation became very creepy.

"…_let me rip…tear…kill…"_

There it was again. "Who's there!" he asked worriedly.

"No one's ever there!" Moaning Myrtle screeched, and Harry jumped a mile and hurried out of the bathroom.

Maybe he would just go to bed and finish in the morning.

* * *

"And countless Ravenclaws have been searching for it for centuries, it's almost a tradition now…"

"That's really interesting, Anthony. What would you do if you starting hearing voices?"

Anthony gave him a look. "I'd look around to see who was speaking, of course."

Harry shook his head. "And what if no one was there?"

Anthony frowned. "There could be several reasons for that. It could be a ghost playing a trick on you. Peeves, probably. It could be someone in another room. The acoustics in some parts of the castle are very strange, did you know?" He thought some more. "It could even just be that you haven't looked hard enough for the person who is speaking to you."

"What if…" Harry swallowed. "What if no one else can hear the voices?"

Anthony considered him for a moment. "Voice, or voices?"

Harry thought about it. "It's happened a few times, but I think it's only one voice."

"There are several explanations possible in that case as well." Anthony said, nodding. "It could be someone speaking to you inside your head. There are ways of doing that, you know. They could be using a charm to only let you hear them. For all you know, it could just be a language that the people with you didn't understand. For a person who didn't understand Mermish, for example, someone speaking it sounds like they're shrieking. But if you do understand it, then it's just another voice to you."

Harry sighed. He wasn't going crazy after all.

"Or," Anthony said, opening the book he'd been holding when Harry approached him earlier. "You could just have a mild case of schizophrenia."

Harry thanked Anthony and went back to Hermione's table.

"Hermione, if I have schizophrenia, what does that mean?"

She looked up at him, amused. "In short, it means you're crazy."

Harry's mouth dropped open, and he shot an incredulous look over at Anthony, who was now immersed in his book and ignoring Harry's glare.

"Well that certainly made me feel better," he grumbled.

Hermione grinned at him. "Did Anthony tell you that you have schizophrenia, Harry?"

Harry scowled. "He said it was a possibility."

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of personality disorders, I've discovered something about Dudley's writing. Watch him for a moment, see if you can spot it."

Harry looked over at Dudley, who was, as usual, scribbling away in that book. He didn't see anything particularly special.

"Just wait for him to turn the page," Hermione said, and Harry waited.

And waited.

"He's not doing it at all!" Harry whispered, fascinated. "In fact, he's not even moving down the page!"

"Exactly," Hermione said smugly. "Which means that's definitely a magical book. I've been watching since school started, and he has never used a different page. He writes, it disappears, reappears, then disappears again, and then he writes some more."

Harry blinked, a conclusion forming in his mind almost immediately. "He's writing to someone."

Hermione nodded. "I can't get close enough to see anything though. I can make him put it down for homework, classes and food with little fuss, but he always puts it in his bag. If I ask to see it, he snaps at me."

Harry voiced the question they were both thinking. "Who could it be?"

Neither of them had a clue.

"Oy, what're you two whispering about over there?" Ron Weasley had joined their study group after the first week of school, although he spent most of his time with them being shushed by the librarian and complaining about the homework. He drove Hermione batty, who said she thought she'd been done with that sort of thing once Dudley had gotten over it in first year.

"We're just worried about Dudley, that's all," Harry said. Ron had seemed uncertain about studying with a _Slytherin_ at first, but Harry had been nothing but polite to him, so he had no grounds to object. Harry personally thought Ron was slightly spoiled, but a nice enough sort of guy as long as Harry didn't pretend that his favourite Quidditch team was whichever was opposing Ron's, like he did with Draco.

"Yeah, what's his problem, anyway?" Ron asked, glancing at the boy in question. "All he ever does is _write_. And he gets all nasty when you ask what about."

"My aunt moved out this summer," Harry said in a low voice. "She doesn't like magic at all. Dudley thinks it's his fault."

Ron's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, surprised. "Poor bloke. But still, what's with the writing? Never saw him write a thing last year, and now it's all he does."

"We aren't sure," Hermione explained. Her eyes brightened suddenly, and she smiled at Ron. "You're in his dorm with him, aren't you? Neville's already keeping an eye on him for me, but could you, too? Make sure he sleeps and try to distract him from that book sometimes? You're right, he shouldn't be writing all the time."

Ron scratched his head and smiled back uncertainly. "Sure, I'll try…but if he yells at me again, don't expect much."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said sincerely. "We're really worried about him. You'd be doing us a huge favour."

Ron turned a bit red. "No problem," he said with a pleased grin. "Happy to help."

* * *

"_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware."_

"Merlin, look at the cat!"

"Is it dead?"

"Who's the Heir?"

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?"

"That poor kitty!"

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch shoved through the crowd, and when he saw Mrs. Norris hanging from the torch bracket, he fell back in horror, clutching his face.

Harry stood in the crowd, nearly as upset as Filch. He'd quite liked Mrs. Norris. "My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" Filch turned on the crowd, glaring into it fiercely. "_Which of you did it!?_ I'll _kill_ whoever did this! I'll kill 'em!"

"Argus!" Dumbledore swept into view along with several of the teachers and detached Mrs. Norris from her bracket. Filch looked at him in a bit of a panic.

"Dumbledore, someone's killed my cat!"

Dumbledore regarded him sympathetically. "Come with me, Argus. The rest of you, back to your Houses."

"My office is nearest, headmaster…"

* * *

"I heard it again, Blaise," Harry said worriedly.

"Heard…?"

"That voice I told you about before," Harry reminded him. "The one that talked about killing things? When we were on our way down to the common room."

"That's why you wanted to go back upstairs?" Blaise's eyes were wide. "And you led us right to Mrs. Norris…"

"I know!" Harry felt frantic. "That means the voice can't just be in my head. It _did _that to Mrs. Norris!"

He and Blaise were sitting in a corner in the common room. Pansy had gone up to bed, and Draco was talking to some of the upper years. He appeared to be saying something very entertaining. Harry couldn't think of anything he could be saying that would be funny right now.

"What's Draco doing?" he asked Blaise, who immediately shifted so that Harry couldn't see Draco anymore.

"Nothing, he's just talking," Blaise said nonchalantly. "Probably trying to find out what's happening."

Harry frowned, leaning around Blaise. "But they're laughing. Why would they be laughing?"

"Oh, you know…" Blaise said vaguely. "Draco can be very funny sometimes."

"I want to ask him what he thinks about this," Harry said, standing. Blaise protested and tried to pull Harry back into his seat, but Harry's scowl was enough to make him let go.

"Draco is such an idiot," Blaise muttered as Harry walked away.

As Harry neared the group, he began catching snatches of what they were saying. His eyes narrowed.

"…mudbloods! I heard one died last time…"

"We're better off without them…"

"…Hogwarts will be mudblood-free within the month!"

A spattering of laughter. Harry stopped. That had been Draco. He turned around to look at Blaise, who was watching him with a look that said he knew exactly what Harry had just overheard.

Harry was furious. At both of them. Draco, for saying such horrible things when he'd _promised_ he wouldn't, and Blaise for trying to cover for him. He sneered in Blaise's direction, who immediately looked affronted, and glared at the back of Draco's head. Then he marched over to the fireplace and dropped down in one of the empty chairs. He wasn't going to sulk over this. He simply wasn't speaking to either of them anymore.

"Harry." It was Blaise. He actually had the gall to come over here and try to talk to Harry. Harry ignored him, and stared at the low table in front of him instead.

"Harry, I just didn't want you two to fight," Blaise took a deep breath and let it all out at once. "Draco is an arse, we both know that. But I didn't…don't get mad at me too."

Harry glared instead at the mantle, and the portrait over the fireplace snickered at him again. It was always doing that.

"_Shut up, you,_" he hissed. It just laughed more.

He looked over at Blaise, who was now staring at him with his mouth slightly open.

"What?" Harry asked irritably. "He was laughing at me."

"He…was?" Blaise asked weakly, sitting down across from Harry and staring at him. Harry nodded, nonplussed, and Blaise just kept staring at him.

Harry suddenly remembered that he was angry at Blaise and snapped, "What's your problem, Blaise?"

Blaise waved his hand at the portrait, then at Harry. "You talked to it."

"Yes…"

"That's a snake up there, Harry."

Harry frowned, feeling more and more irritated by the moment. "So I'd noticed. Make your point already."

"My point is that you're a Parselmouth!" Blaise said in frustration. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"A Parselmouth?" Harry asked, confused. Blaise's expression cleared slightly.

"Of course. You had no idea, did you?" He sounded almost fond. Harry glared again.

"Just tell me what a Parselmouth is," he said.

Blaise grinned. "You can speak to snakes," he explained. "You speak Parseltongue."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. "Yeah, that snake in the portrait is always making little comments at me. I didn't know it was anything important. I assumed he just spoke English and you all ignored him."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if that snake was talking to us, the last thing we'd do is ignore him." He looked at Harry hopefully. "Say something in Parseltongue, would you?"

Harry thought for a moment and said, "Blaise is a prat who shouldn't try to cover for people when they're being a bigot."

Blaise smirked at him. "That was in English, Harry."

Harry grinned and reddened slightly. "It's true, anyway."

"Yeah, probably," Blaise admitted. "Now say something in Parseltongue already."

Harry frowned and glanced up at the snake. "_I don't know how to make it work,_" he said uncertainly.

"Wicked," Blaise grinned. "What did you say?"

Harry was bemused. "I said 'I don't know how to make it work'."

"Try and say something else, then."

"_This is weird._"

"What did you say?"

"_I said you're annoying._"

"_No you didn't,_" the snake in the portrait hissed. "_Why did you lie?_"

"Harry? Is the snake talking too? What are you saying?"

"_Am I still speaking in Parseltongue?_" Harry asked, alarmed. "_How do I stop?_"

"Harry! Speak English!"

"I don't know how!" Harry said, glaring at Blaise.

Blaise grinned. "You just did."

Harry scowled. "I think I have to be looking at the snake," he said.

"That sounds right," Blaise agreed. "Draco's coming, by the way."

Harry looked around. Draco was coming toward them, and by the look on his face, he had no idea that Harry had heard him before.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, sitting down on the couch.

Harry immediately remembered how angry he was and glared at him. "What do you care, Malfoy?" he asked coldly. "I'll be gone in a month, anyway." He turned to Blaise. "Don't tell him about it." Then he stood up and went up to the dorm. As he left, he heard Blaise start in on Draco about what an arse he was, and felt a bit better. Not that he was going to be talking to Draco any time soon, but it felt good to know that Draco was going to suffer a bit.

* * *

Harry dove on his broom, feeling better than he had in a month. Last year's Seeker hadn't failed to graduate like everyone had expected, so the spot was Harry's without a doubt. When Blaise and Draco had found out back in September, they had convinced Harry to buy himself the latest model broom, a Nimbus 2001, in celebration. Flint had had them practicing three times a week in response to the Gryffindor team's almost fanatical practice schedule, which had them practicing every day, at all hours.

"Just the fact that they're practicing so hard should say how terrible whatever new Seeker they've got is," Flint told them confidently. "Our team doesn't have to worry about that. Everyone here has had at least a year." He looked at Harry when he said this. "So if we lose Sunday…" The look on his face very clearly told them that to lose Sunday would be to die, slowly and painfully. Then he grinned ferally and shoved them all out the door for another gruelling practice.

Now here they were, Sunday. It was muggy, and Harry thought it might rain soon. Hopefully the match would be over by then. He rose high in the air again, searching for the Snitch. His opponent was a black boy in Dudley's dorm, Harry thought his name might be Thomas, although he wasn't sure.

Harry watched from above as one of the Gryffindor chasers scored another point. It looked like all that practicing had paid off; they really were quite good. Which meant it was up to him more than ever to find the Snitch first. He did a loop to work off some of his nerves and flew off toward the opposite side of the pitch, Thomas close behind him. Harry wondered if the other Seeker thought he'd spotted something. Harry glanced back at him and saw that this was, in fact, the case. He darted one more glance around to make sure the Snitch wasn't anywhere nearby, and went suddenly into a spectacular dive, Thomas scrambling after him.

Harry heard the commentator yell something about the Seekers, and grinned as he pulled suddenly out of the dive halfway through and carried on roaming the field as though nothing had happened.

"_Who me?_" he thought in amusement. "_Spot the Snitch? Don't know what you're talking about…_"

Then the thunder split open the sky, and he was very suddenly being pelted with sheets of rain, which dampened his amusement somewhat. He passed by the Slytherin stands, where Pansy and Blaise were cheering for him underneath a giant umbrella. He saw Draco with them, and pretended he hadn't. He hadn't been on good terms with Draco for about a month now. Draco had said he was sorry, and Harry had ostensibly forgiven him, but Harry still wasn't happy. Draco had claimed to be sorry last time, too, but that hadn't stopped him from making a repeat performance. Harry was nothing if not stubborn, and he didn't think he could be friends with someone who thought his other friends and, indeed, his mother, were lower life forms. So he spoke to Draco when necessary, but it was stilted, and more often than not, Blaise acted as a go-between when they had to interact. Harry knew it upset all his friends (in Slytherin, anyway; Hermione thoroughly agreed with Harry), but maybe this way, Draco would understand just how horrible his thinking was, and maybe change his views.

Harry pulled his attention back to the game, having been distracted for too long, and there it was, a glint of gold, down near the grass. He dove.

* * *


	17. The Parselmouth

* * *

The victory party in the common room after the game was a very eventful one for Harry. After being congratulated repeatedly by what seemed like every Slytherin at Hogwarts, Harry went to relax by the fire and drank some Butterbeer. Pansy found him immediately and sat with him, complimenting his flying and generally putting him in a very good mood.

He should have known something was going on at that point. Pansy never gushed at him over Quidditch. She had tried to push him off a tower first year when she found out he'd joined.

Blaise appeared suddenly at his right, dragging a sullen Draco along with him. Harry's good mood evaporated, and he greeted them.

"Hi Blaise…Malfoy."

"Harry, we are ending this _now_." When he wanted to, Blaise could be more stubborn than Harry, which was the only thing that stopped Harry protesting that there was nothing to end. "Draco, tell him what you told me."

Draco looked at a spot behind Harry's head and was silent. Blaise growled and sneered at him.

"Tell him, or I will."

Harry was surprised at Blaise's vehemence, and maybe Draco was too, because he finally started talking.

"Remember how my father made Vince and Greg follow us around all the time?" he asked. Harry nodded, wondering where Draco was going with this. Draco started to clam up again, but Blaise glared venomously at him and he continued. "He also told me, after he met you, that I should…explain a few things to you."

Harry stared at him.

"He said that since you were a Slytherin, you had it half right, but I had already told him you were friends with Hermione, who he knew is a muggleborn, so he told me I needed to make you see that she's…the wrong sort…"

Harry glared and opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off hurriedly, meeting his eyes now.

"I don't think she's the wrong sort at all, Harry! I don't really have a problem with muggleborns, especially not after knowing her, and I never had a problem with you. But my father wanted me to make you think that you should, have a problem with her, I mean, and I just didn't want to…"

Draco trailed off, but Harry thought he had an idea of what he meant. He had seen at Diagon Alley that Draco looked up to his father, and he'd seen with Vince and Greg that Draco didn't want to go against his father's wishes and disappoint him. But still.

"If you were just supposed to convince me, why were you talking to the other Slytherins like that?" Harry challenged him. "I wasn't even around. You certainly wouldn't have convinced me by talking like that, anyway."

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I had given up on you by that point. I never really thought I could convince you in the first place. The people I was talking to are connected with people who would let it get back to Father that I was speaking against…muggleborns and things like that, and he'd think I was doing what he'd told me."

Harry considered this. It was actually a decent idea. Harry had spoiled it by overhearing, true, but it was still a good idea.

"But you won't say that sort of thing anymore, will you?" Harry asked. "Your father is going to have to find out you don't agree with him eventually, Draco."

Draco winced. "I know, and I won't. I promise. I mean it this time, too."

Draco waited for Harry to say something. Blaise glared at Harry when he didn't respond, but Harry ignored him. He thought he might have heard…

"…_So hungry, for so long…_"

"Harry, he apologised! Don't be a -"

"Shut up, Blaise!" Harry said, standing. "Do you hear that?" Harry had just heard the voice again, very faintly. It was travelling upward.

Blaise looked worried. "Is it the voice again?"

Draco and Pansy looked alarmed and confused.

"What voice?" Draco asked, only to be hushed immediately by Harry.

"It said it's hungry." He stepped closer to the wall, which was the direction he'd heard it from, but it was gone.

"What's hungry?" Pansy asked, confused.

"Last time Harry heard the voice was when Mrs. Norris was petrified," Blaise informed Draco and Pansy, who both looked very alarmed.

"I didn't hear anything," Draco said uncertainly.

Harry pressed his ear to the wall, trying to block out the noise of the party going on behind him.

"I've never heard it either," Blaise said. Harry was struck with a sudden idea, and looked up at the portrait.

"_Did you hear that voice?_" he asked it. Pansy gasped behind him, and Draco gave a shout. Harry had time to reflect that Blaise hadn't told Pansy either, when he'd only meant to keep Draco in the dark about his parseltongue abilities.

"_I did,_" the snake responded, flicking it's tail.

"_It was a snake, then?_" Harry hissed excitedly. A crowd was starting to gather, having been attracted by Draco's shout, and it was beginning to circulate that Harry was talking to the portrait.

"_It was,_" the snake agreed.

"_Do you know where it is?_"

"_In the pipes,_" the snake informed him casually. "_I wouldn't go looking for him, though. He isn't one for conversation. He's hunting at the moment, and you look would look quite tasty to him._"

The colour drained from Harry's face. There was a man-eating snake on the loose in the school.

"_How big is he?_ _Do you know where he's headed?_"

"_From his voice, he sounds about as long as the room you are in._" Harry paled even further. The room was quite long, thirty feet at least. "_He's headed up. I don't know where exactly. He just says he wants to rip and kill. He must be very hungry._"

"_Thank you,_" Harry said weakly. He walked over to a chair and sank into it slowly. All of the Slytherins had crowded around them now, discussing Harry's conversation excitedly.

"Harry?" Blaise asked in concern. "What did he say?"

Everyone hushed, wanting to hear what a conversation with a snake sounded like.

"He said the voice is a man-eating snake as big as this room," Harry repeated helplessly. "He says it's hunting, and that it's in the pipes right now."

The uproar was tremendous.

* * *

Sure enough, the next day found Oliver Wood petrified.

The story going around school was that he'd been found in the Trophy Room. His team mates claimed they'd left him in the Quidditch locker rooms, depressed over their loss. He must have gone up to the Trophy Room to look at the Cup that they wouldn't be winning this year and been attacked there.

Everyone was panicking, especially the Slytherins. It was one thing, the Heir of Slytherin attacking a cat, but it was quite another to find that a giant snake was hunting in the school. A hungry snake was not going to differentiate between muggleborn and pureblood. Oliver Wood was halfblood, which was a case in point. Everyone had been expecting only muggleborns to be attacked.

It didn't take long before the giant snake rumour spread through the school, along with Harry's affinity for snakes. Suspicion immediately settled on him like a dust cloud, which wasn't fair, because as Draco said, he was the one who'd told everyone about the snake. If it had been Harry's doing, he could have kept it quiet.

Most Slytherins did take this view, along with Harry's Gryffindor friends, and even Filch (who told him comfortingly one day over tea that he knew how Harry had liked playing with Mrs. Norris and didn't suspect him at all, and how the real culprit would be caught and Filch would hang him from the ceiling by his toenails), but the rest of the school was much less understanding of a Slytherin Parselmouth, and now Harry was being avoided in the corridors and Hufflepuffs were staring uneasily at him and declaring their purebloodedness loudly in his presence. It was all very annoying. Harry was surprised the teachers hadn't called him in to talk to him yet, but as Blaise said, they probably just considered it all nasty rumours.

* * *

"So, Harry, I think we should go somewhere else."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Anthony, willingly leaving the library?

"Don't give me that look," he said, packing his things up into his bag. "I want to give you your Christmas present before I leave for the holiday."

It _was _less than a week before the winter holidays. Anthony stood and beckoned him to follow, and Harry did, shrugging. They went into an empty classroom and Harry closed the door behind them as Anthony rummaged around in his bag and set a box on the teacher's desk.

"Happy Christmas," he said, watching Harry as he lifted the lid. Harry stared at the contents of the box for a moment, then at Anthony.

"It's a snake," he said in confusion. Anthony nodded and lifted it out of the box. It _was_ a snake, and it looked as though Anthony had found it in one of the greenhouses. "Thanks," Harry said uncertainly.

"You can use it to teach me Parseltongue," Anthony explained, holding the snake out for Harry to take. "Blaise Zabini told me you have to look at a snake in order to speak it, which won't do us any good at all if you're to teach me without one."

"I'm going to teach you Parseltongue?" Harry asked, amused. Now that he understood why Anthony had gotten him the snake, he wasn't so bewildered. He had no problem with teaching Anthony Parseltongue. He was surprised that he knew something that Anthony wanted to know and didn't, actually.

"Of course," Anthony said, giving him a winsome smile. Harry grinned at the obvious attempt to sway him. Anthony was no Slytherin.

"Alright, sure," Harry agreed easily. "How are we going to go about doing this?"

"I've learned magical languages before," Anthony said thoughtfully. "But this one is so rare. All the languages are different, each has it's own way of learning. I suppose we'll find out. But I thought we could start with my mimicking you, and you could tell me if I got it right."

Harry let the snake glide around his fingers and thought about this. It made as much sense as any other way. "When do we start?" he asked. Anthony smiled again and stepped over to the door.

"Now is as good a time as any," Anthony informed him, holding the door open for him and following him out. "And if I know how this method works out, over the holidays, I could see about coming up with all the details, like books and conjugations and -"

"Books?" Harry interrupted. "Conjugations?"

"Of course, Harry," Anthony said, glancing at him as though questioning his intelligence. "Most languages have books written, if not about them, then in that language. And just about all languages have conjugations."

"I just speak it," Harry said uncertainly. "I certainly don't know about anything about conjugations or writing it."

Anthony paused. "I suppose there might not be any books, come to think of it. It is a rare language. But don't worry about the conjugations. I'll show you how to teach me. Say 'to speak'."

"_To speak_," Harry hissed. Anthony listened closely and when Harry was finished, attempted to imitate it.

"Close," Harry laughed. Anthony nodded, satisfied.

"Now, to conjugate," Anthony explained, "You'll tell me how to say 'I speak', 'he speaks', 'she speaks', 'they speak', 'we speak', and so on. There will probably be a pattern. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Say 'to speak' again."

"_To speak,_"

"_To speak,_" Anthony imitated. A passing Hufflepuff stared at them with wide eyes as they hissed at each other.

"Perfect," Harry congratulated him. The snake had perked it's head up from the very first hiss, and had been watching them curiously the whole time.

"_What are you doing?_"

"_I'm teaching him parseltongue,_" Harry explained.

The snake regarded them with interest. Anthony was watching it in much the same way.

"_To speak my language, he must learn to hiss properly,_" the snake lectured, and Anthony, who had caught only the first part, was delighted.

"It said 'to speak', didn't it?" he asked Harry, who nodded with a smile. "What else did it say?"

Harry repeated what the snake had said, and Anthony frowned. "How do I hiss properly?" he asked, more of the snake than Harry, but Harry answered anyway.

"It's like you have a human accent," Harry explained. "It's understandable, but you have to really let the hiss last. I think you need to…" he paused, trying to figure out what was different with Anthony's hiss. "Try to let your tongue flicker, if you can. And your mouth shouldn't be too dry."

"_What are you telling him?_" the snake asked him.

"_I'm explaining how to hiss,_" Harry told it. The snake looked satisfied and they watched Anthony try to perfect hissing some more.

"_I would like to help you teach him,_" the snake informed Harry after a moment. "_I can say the words and he can guess what they mean. We will give him a treat if he is correct._"

Harry laughed, and told Anthony what the snake said.

Anthony nodded. "That's an idea. We could have him repeating the words I'm to learn, and you could explain to me what I'm doing wrong."

"Do you want the treat too?" Harry asked, and Anthony actually laughed.

"Tell him I'm not a domesticated animal," he instructed.

Harry relayed this fact along with Anthony's version of it's idea to the snake, who agreed and said, "_Not yet, but we will train him."_

And so began Anthony's study of Parseltongue.

* * *

The night before the last day of classes, Draco found a bulletin on the notice board about a Duelling Club.

"We might as well go," Blaise agreed, and since neither Harry nor Pansy had any argument, that night found them milling about the Great Hall with the rest of the interested students.

"Who do you think will be teaching us?" Pansy asked.

"As long as it's not Lockhart," Harry grumbled. Over the past few months, Lockhart had begun pulling Harry aside for 'talks'. The first of these talks involved actually scolding Harry for avoiding a photo-op with him in Diagon Alley, and they only got worse as time went on. Lockhart seemed convinced, with no help from Harry, that Harry was just as interested in being famous as he was. He had taken to dragging Harry through the halls with him, chattering inanely, and even took all of Harry's detentions.

Harry responded to this by becoming a model student and hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle when he saw his professor approaching. Draco, at least, had been pleased that his bodyguards had come in handy. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't prevent association with Lockhart during classes, and had thus been forced into more re-enactments of Lockhart's adventures than he cared to remember. As a result, Harry had quickly lost any figment of tolerance he had ever had for Lockhart.

"Oh no," Blaise said suddenly. Harry refused to look at the stage in case he made eye contact.

"It is Lockhart, isn't it?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Snape's there too, if that makes you feel any better," Draco said consolingly. Harry didn't know that it did. Snape ignored him, for the most part, and Harry had no clue if he would have any help from his Head of House in this situation.

"I think we should stand over here," Harry said, leading them as far away from the stage as possible. Blaise, Pansy and Draco followed, but only because they were liable to get caught in the crossfire as well. They found Harry's Lockhart troubles amusing, most of the time.

"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"

"I don't think we're going to learn very much about duelling," Blaise whispered. Harry agreed.

"I'm fine with just watching him in class," Pansy agreed. "If I'm going to be spending my own time on this, I want to actually get something out of it."

"..My assistant, Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin."

Draco smirked. "Can we move a bit closer, Harry? This ought to be good."

Harry warred for a moment with his desire to stay as far as possible from Lockhart, and his desire to see Lockhart cursed into a babbling pile of goo. The way Snape's lip was curling decided it.

"Alright, we'll get a little bit closer. As long as he can't see us."

Lockhart explained the duelling technique, counted to three, and was promptly blasted off his feet and slammed into the wall.

Harry and the rest of the Slytherins cheered.

* * *

The next morning, Harry, Draco, Pansy and Blaise were still laughing over Lockhart's flight across the Great Hall. It had been the highlight of the entire night. The rest had mostly involved Harry dodging through the crowd as Lockhart tried rather obviously to find him after spotting him during the first catastrophic attempt at letting the students duel each other. Harry had become a house favourite after the Quidditch victory and subsequent revelation about his Parseltongue ability, and the other Slytherins had taken pleasure in hiding Harry and pointing Lockhart in the wrong direction.

Despite the amusement value, though, the four of them had decided not to participate in any more Duelling Club meetings. It was agreed that it had been rather pointless. The only thing any of them had learned was _Expelliarmus,_ and that had been from Snape, who was apparently only there for the first night.

They had Charms first thing that day although, as Draco grumbled, if they'd had Herbology they could have had a free period, as the greenhouses had been snowed in. What happened halfway through class made up for it, however.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! ATTAAAACK!"

* * *

_A/N: Parseltongue is a learnable language! Just look at Ron in Deathly Hallows. Harry didn't say 'open' around him too many times, but he was able to pick it up and remember it well enough. And if Ron can do it…well, Anthony certainly can. And would certainly want to. And if he's learned other languages, he should be able to pick this up easily enough. I'll explain in further detail why this is not complete crap later on in the story. For now, calm down people, it's just fanfiction. :)_


	18. The Book

**

* * *

**By Christmas, Harry had gotten to know his snake very well. This was mostly because he had been one of very few people who had stayed at the castle, what with the most recent double attack on the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, and a Hufflepuff boy named Justin Finch-Fletchly. Draco had been one other person who had stayed (along with Crabbe and Goyle, of course), but as Draco was very interested in seeing Harry speak to snakes, it amounted to the same thing.

It was female, and although she understood the concept of naming things, she saw no reason to have a name herself.

"_You and Anthony will be the only two who will be able to speak to me,_" she'd reasoned. "_And if you are speaking my language, then you are speaking to me._"

It made enough sense, so Harry let it be. Draco hadn't, though, and wanted Harry to name her, reasoning that if he didn't tell her, she would never know.

"She'll eventually figure it out, Draco, she's not stupid," Harry protested. "When we make the same sounds whenever she's obviously being talked about, she'll ask questions. And I won't lie to her."

"But she can't not have a name, Harry! What am I to call her? The snake?" He grinned mischievously. "Why don't you just tell her that the name we use means 'the snake?"

"Draco, I told you, I'm not going to lie to her," Harry said insistently. It was Christmas morning. They'd been having this argument on and off for about a week now. Harry ignored Draco's newest argument and reached for a present. It was from Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and it had a rather long letter attached to it. Harry unrolled it and looked it over.

"If anything, all that writing he's been doing has improved his handwriting," he muttered absently, reading it properly now.

"Is that from Dudley?" Draco asked, nudging him. Crabbe and Goyle were still asleep, so Harry had moved all his presents to Draco's bed, with the idea that they could be quieter this way.

"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes moving down the page. Dudley was doing well at home, apparently. He and Uncle Vernon had done things together every day since he'd gotten back. Harry frowned. What had happened to writing in that book of his all the time? Dudley sounded happy, nothing like the snappish boy he'd been a few days ago, when Harry had last seen him. Harry continued reading, and reached a section of the letter that was choppy and rushed. He paled as he read it.

"Hey, Harry…" Draco looked up from one of his presents to see Harry staring in horror at the parchment. "Harry? Are you okay? What does it say?"

Harry pointed out the section he was currently reading, and as Draco's eyes flicked over it, they widened and his mouth dropped open.

Apparently, the book Dudley had been writing in all year belonged to someone named Tom Riddle. He had been writing back to Dudley, sympathising with him over his mother's abrupt departure and helping him get over it. Then Dudley started losing his memories, forgetting where he'd been at certain times. He'd found red paint and feathers on his robes at Halloween, and he didn't remember what he'd been doing when Oliver Wood and Justin Finch-Fletchly had been attacked. It had been Justin and Nearly Headless Nick's attack that had really disturbed Dudley, so he'd left the book at Hogwarts and was now asking Harry to please get rid of it for him.

"We knew there was something off about that book," Harry whispered, horrified. "Hermione was going to tell Professor McGonagall about it if he didn't stop writing obsessively by the time break ended. We thought at first that he was just upset, but that could only last so long…"

"Merlin," Draco said, shaking his head. "So your possessed cousin is the Heir of Slytherin?"

Harry glared at him, and Draco raised his hands defensively. "I said possessed, didn't I? No one said Dudley's doing it on purpose. He's muggleborn, isn't he?"

Harry sighed. "He wants me to get the book and get rid of it."

Draco nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. Better than him doing it himself, don't you think?"

"It's in Gryffindor Tower. In his bedside drawer."

Draco blinked. "Could he make it any more difficult? He at least gave you the password, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Can I come along?" Draco asked hopefully. "We can do it during lunch."

Harry smirked at his hands. "You just want to see the inside of Gryffindor Tower."

"I want to see if it's as red as the rumours claim," Draco agreed blithely. "It's for a good cause, isn't it? I couldn't let you go up there all alone."

"Sure, alright," Harry sighed, and looked down at the letter again. "I suppose I'm just glad he told me, then. Hermione will be thrilled that Dudley isn't neurotic."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Was that her newest theory?"

"If the book wasn't the problem, then yes," Harry said with a laugh. He was so glad it was over. No more attacks, no more unnaturally obsessive Dudley. "She looked it up in one of the medical books in the library."

Draco nodded, and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. "It's nearly noon. Want to finish opening our presents, grab your Cloak, and get up to Gryffindor before Vince and Greg wake up?"

"Sure."

* * *

After retrieving the book from Gryffindor, Harry and Draco returned to their now empty dorm to figure out what to do next. Draco had wrapped it up in Harry's jumper, having refused to let either of them touch it, and it now sat on Theo's abandoned bed.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"I dunno, destroy it?" Draco asked.

"To destroy it, we'd have to touch it," Harry said reasonably.

"Not necessarily," Draco said, pulling out his wand. "_Diffindo!_"

A jet of light burst from Draco's wand and hit the book. It immediately rebounded and hit the bedpost, inches from Harry's head, leaving a deep gouge in the wood.

"Holy_ hell,_ Draco, watch what you're doing!" he yelled, jerking backward.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Draco exclaimed, shoving his wand in his back pocket and jumping away from the bed.

They both breathed heavily for a moment, staring at the book.

"Let's just put it away somewhere until break ends," Draco suggested in a small voice. "Blaise will know what to do."

Harry nodded emphatically. Blaise would know what to do. They lifted the jumper with the book on it and put it in one of the empty boxes from Draco's presents, jumper and all. Then they closed the box, sealed it magically, and stuffed it under Harry's bed.

"Wait," Harry said after they'd finished. "I don't know if I want that under my bed."

"It's certainly not going under mine," Draco said stubbornly.

Harry thought for a moment. "Does Greg ever look under his bed?"

Draco snorted. "Even if he could see it there, Harry, I doubt he could _fit _under his bed to get it out."

Harry nodded and shoved the box under Greg's bed instead.

* * *

Harry and Draco made a valiant attempt to ignore the book until everyone came back from break. If Greg wondered why they glanced at him more often than usual, well that wasn't important.

It was a relief, then, when everyone came back and they were able to nod reassuringly at Dudley on the platform and drag Pansy, Blaise, and as an afterthought, Hermione, down to the dorm.

"What are we doing?" Hermione asked in bemusement as Harry rifled around under Goyle's bed.

"Dudley isn't neurotic, Hermione!" Harry's voice was slightly muffled by being under the bed. When he finally got a grip on the box and pulled it out, he straightened up and deposited the book on top of his trunk, trying very hard to ignore Theo, who was demanding that someone explain what had attacked his bedpost while he'd been away.

"We have the book he was writing in," Harry explained excitedly. "He sent me a letter telling me all about it. Draco, where did we put that?"

Draco rummaged around in Harry's bedside table and pulled it out after a moment.

"Here it is," he said, handing it to Pansy, who was closest. "Read that part," he said, pointing at the important paragraphs. Blaise and Hermione crowded around her and everything was quiet for a moment, as Theo had given up and gone back to the common room.

"Oh my god," Hermione breathed, covering her mouth with her hand in dismay. "Poor Dudley!"

Pansy's eyes were wide as saucers. "Wow."

Blaise looked up at them worriedly. "You have the book now?"

Draco nodded. "We didn't actually touch it, though. It's in here."

He proceeded to slit open the box and show them all. They crowded around and stared down at the innocuous little book apprehensively.

"It sounds like this Tom Riddle person manipulated him through what he wrote, not any magic on the book," Pansy said carefully.

"We are not writing in it," Blaise said immediately. "We're taking it to Dumbledore."

"That's your solution for everything!" Pansy complained. "We can't always go to Dumbledore, you know. I don't care if you're his favourite."

"This _is_ a situation where we should take it to Dumbledore," Hermione agreed firmly. Draco appeared to be thinking it over.

"You know, Pansy's right, I don't think it would hurt if we wrote in it and asked him a few questions…"

"And what would we ask him?" Blaise asked sarcastically. "'Do you enjoy living in a book? What are your hobbies aside from possessing people and using them to petrify other people? Do you perhaps knit?'"

"Alright, Blaise, we get it," Harry said with a small smile.

"To Dumbledore, then?" Hermione asked.

Blaise picked up the box carefully, and Harry nodded. "To Dumbledore. Someone needs to get Dudley first, though."

* * *

"…and that's when they showed it to us, and we found Dudley and brought the book to you."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. They had taken turns telling different parts of the story, beginning with Dudley's explanation of how he'd found it in his Lockhart books, and how he'd spilled ink on it and first found out there was someone in the diary. Then Harry and Hermione had explained their worry over Dudley, Harry had explained the letter, Draco had told about their trip to Gryffindor, and Blaise explained about what had happened in the dorm.

Dumbledore very gently picked up the book and opened it, causing all of them to flinch except for Dudley. "This is indeed a very Dark magical item. Fifty points to each of you for bringing it to me so promptly."

Dudley shifted uncomfortably, and Dumbledore peered down at him through his half moon spectacles.

"Yes, Mr. Dursley, fifty points to you as well. It took a great deal of strength and courage to leave this at Hogwarts and to write that letter to your cousin. You are a credit to your house."

Dudley blushed furiously, and Harry and Hermione grinned at him.

"Now, I am certain that you are all eager to catch up after such a long break," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at them. "Off with you. Except for you, Mr. Dursley, I'd like to ask you a few more questions." At Dudley's worried expression, he added, "I assure you that you are in no trouble. Greater minds than yours have been hoodwinked by the one that dwells in this book."

* * *

All five of them had remained outside Dumbledore's office, waiting for Dudley to emerge. When he finally did, Harry jumped up from the floor with Draco and Hermione not far behind him.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, what?" Draco demanded.

"Don't be rude, Draco," Pansy scolded him.

"I'm not being rude, I want to know -"

"I can't tell you if you're all talking," Dudley said, bemused.

"What did he say, Dudley?" Harry asked, and this time they all fell silent, waiting for his answer.

"He asked me a bit about where I'd gotten the book, but all I remember is that it was stuck in with my Lockhart books," Dudley began. He made a face. "Then he asked me how you and me get along, Harry."

"You and I," Hermione corrected automatically. Dudley grinned at her.

"You and I," he repeated. She flushed when Harry gave her a look for interrupting.

"Sorry…"

"No problem," Dudley said easily. The change between now and before break really was astounding. "So I told him that _you and I_ get along pretty _well_, and he looked happy. He offered me a lemon drop and told me that blood should stick together. Then he mentioned his brother and something about goats…"

They all contemplated this for a moment.

"…did he say anything else?" Blaise asked finally.

"He said I have very good friends, and that I should keep them close too," Dudley said. "And that's about it, really."

"I want to know more about the person in that book," Hermione said thoughtfully. "He said that greater wizards that Dudley had been hoodwinked by him, so he's bound to be some famous Dark wizard, at least. What was his name, Dudley?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said after a moment of thought. "That was what it said on the outside of the book. I just called him Tom. He said he went to school here, if that helps."

"It does," Hermione said, pulling out a piece of parchment and scribbling the name down. "That means I can look him up in the old yearbooks. Thanks, Dudley."

* * *

"So the whole Heir of Slytherin thing is over then?" Neville asked hopefully. Hermione nodded.

"It was the book causing it all, and now that it's gone - Dudley, Ron, put that down!" she snapped distractedly. "The problem was the book. The book is gone, so is the problem. Stop it, you two, that's a book, not a Quaffle!"

She snatched the book away from Dudley, who was looking very guilty.

"I'd expect that from Ron, Dudley, but not you," she said severely. Ron pretended to look wounded when she wasn't watching, and Dudley grinned.

"Oy, you two, stop torturing Hermione," Harry said, looking up from his nearly completed Transfiguration essay. Ron rolled his eyes.

"That isn't due 'til Thursday, Harry," he told him. "Why are you doing it now?"

"Because it's Tuesday, I'll be busy tomorrow, and Hermione would kill me if I did everything the day before it was due anyway," Harry explained, smirking. "Merlin knows you don't have much time left."

Ron rolled his eyes again. "Fine," he muttered, and pulled a piece of parchment out of his bag. Hermione saw this and looked relieved. She'd been trying to look up Tom Riddle since Dudley told her his name yesterday, but Ron kept distracting her. She had declared him a terrible influence on Dudley and Neville, a title which he wore proudly. He said she had made them both too uptight.

Harry finished his essay and rolled it up after drying the ink. He leaned back in his chair and noticed Anthony sitting nearby.

"See you later," he said, and Hermione gave him a pleading look. "If you want help, invite Blaise more often," he told her with a laugh as he grabbed his bag and went over to Anthony's table.

"Welcome back," he said as he dropped down in the seat across from his friend. "How was your Christmas?"

"It was interesting," Anthony said. "My Aunt Alice visited. I told her about your teaching me Parseltongue, she's very interested. I'm going to teach her what you teach me."

"Alright," Harry said. "I brought the snake, do you think we can do it in here?"

"I don't see why not," Anthony said. "She'll stay on your wrist, and we're learning. Haven't you named her yet?"

Harry groaned. "Not you too. She doesn't want a name. She says the only people talking to her will be me and you, so it doesn't matter."

Anthony shrugged. "Fair enough. Anyway, I've made a list of words you can teach me. I want to learn a few basic phrases first, so I can communicate with my own snake."

"You bought a snake?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Aunt Alice bought it for me," Anthony explained. "And anyway, the best way of learning a language is to immerse yourself in it. I can't do that at home without a snake."

"Alright, what do you want to learn first?"

He hissed to the snake, and she poked her head out his sleeve.

"_Anthony is back!_" she told Harry with interest. "_Will we be teaching him again?_"

"What did she say?" Anthony asked.

"She's happy you're back," Harry translated. "Do you want to learn your name?"

Anthony nodded vigorously. "What is it?"

Harry showed him, and soon, Anthony had made up a list of names he wanted to be able to say too.

"_You should teach him how to say food,_" the snake interrupted at one point. "_Names are not as important as food._"

Harry translated this, and Anthony shrugged. "I might as well learn the culture as well," he said agreeably.

"What is _that!_" Harry winced and tried to hide the snake. Too late.

"Is that a _creature _in my library?" Madam Pince asked shrilly. "_Out! _Get out now!"

Seconds later, they stood outside the doors to the library, Harry rubbing his head where she'd hit him with a thick book.

"Sorry for getting us kicked out," Harry said. Anthony shrugged.

"We didn't have to do this in there, anyway," he said, starting to walk down the hall. "By the way, did you know that all the Hufflepuffs think I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

Harry blinked. "But that's over…why?"

"One of them saw us hissing at each other, remember?" Anthony explained. "They've decided you're too obvious. Why is it over?"

Harry told him about what had happened during Christmas break, and how the book was with Dumbledore now.

"He's going to announce it at dinner tonight, I think," Harry finished. "We thought he'd do it at the Welcome Back feast, but maybe he wanted to be sure that it was destroyed first?"

"Possibly," Anthony said. "This is good news, in any case. I can use the library at night again."

"You break into the library at night?" Harry asked incredulously. He'd had no clue that Anthony broke rules, although in retrospect, it probably should have been obvious.

"Only when I can't sleep," Anthony said defensively. "Or when I need to look something up and it can't wait until morning. That woman has no business keeping children from knowledge in a school."

"…_So hungry…_"

Harry frowned and lifted his wrist to look at his snake.

"_Did you say something?_" he asked it

"Did you hear that?" Anthony asked suddenly. "I'm not sure what it meant, but I heard a snake."

"…_the master has been gone for a long time…_"

"There it was again!"

"_I said nothing,_" the snake said. "_It is the big snake, behind that wall._"

Harry blanched. He stepped over to the wall and placed his ear very gently against it.

"…_if there is no master, what to do? ….so hungry…_"

"Harry?" Anthony asked. "What's going on? I can only understand a little bit. What's it saying?"

"_I smell blood…_"

"The snake that was petrifying people," Harry said frantically. "It was under the Heir's control, but now that the book is gone, no one told the snake to go home…"

Anthony's eyes went wide, and they both stared at the wall as the hissing travelled upward.

* * *


	19. The Basilisk

* * *

"What do we do?" Anthony asked, staring up at the ceiling where the voice had gone. "Someone else is going to get Petrified, aren't they?"

"The snake in Slytherin told me this one eats humans," Harry said uncertainly. "I've been wondering why it Petrifies people instead of eating them. Maybe the Heir wasn't letting it?"

Anthony looked pale. "So people are going to start disappearing instead?"

Harry had a gruesome thought. "I hope we don't find bits of them if they do."

"I didn't need that mental image right now, Harry," Anthony informed him, looking sick. "I say we go back in the library. What are the odds of the snake going there?"

"Without a master, it can do whatever it wants," Harry said, feeling a bit panicky. "It could just roam the halls, picking us off as it finds us."

"I'd still feel better in the library," Anthony said uneasily. Harry glanced down the deserted hall. He thought he might feel safer there too.

"You know what we could do," Anthony said suddenly. Harry gave him a questioning look as they hurried back to the doors of the library. "We could figure out what kind of snake it is. Big, man-eating, petrifies people, not many snakes do all that. Maybe there's a way to kill it."

Harry felt his hopes rise. "That's a really good idea. I'll get Hermione to help us."

They opened the doors to the library and went back inside, only to be confronted by a still angry Madam Pince.

"And what do you two think you're doing back here?" she demanded shrilly. "Out! Out now!"

"But we need -"

"Please, Madam Pince -"

"None of that! You will not bring filthy creatures into my library and expect no punishment! You boys are lucky I don't give you a _detention_!"

She ushered them out, deaf to their pleas, and closed the doors in their faces.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring in shock at the doors.

"If the snake eats us, I will haunt her for all of eternity," Anthony said bitterly. Harry made a sound of agreement.

"Now what?" Harry leaned against the wall and tried very hard not to look up and down the corridor every five seconds. He was starting to feel uncomfortably paranoid in the open space.

Anthony slid down to the floor. "You could teach me how to say, 'Don't eat me, I'm poisonous' in Parseltongue," he suggested half heartedly.

One of the doors to the library opened, and they looked up in hope. It was just a fifth year, but she did leave the door open.

"Oh, good," Anthony said, standing up and peering inside. "Madam Pince is back at her desk. I can see your friends. We can probably get their attention without her noticing."

Harry looked inside as well. Anthony was right.

"How do we get their attention, though?" he asked. Anthony looked around, but there was nothing near them that would attract attention. He shrugged and started waving frantically at them. Harry followed suit, waving his arms wildly.

After about five minutes, Ron got up and came over to the doors.

"Hermione wants me to ask what the bloody hell you two think you're doing," he informed them, grinning.

"Hermione did not say bloody hell," Harry disagreed. Ron laughed.

"Well no, but I could tell she wanted to so I added it in for her," he explained, shrugging.

"Tell her we need to talk to her," Anthony said. "We've been kicked out of the library, and this is of the utmost importance. Tell her that."

Ron nodded and ambled back over to the table, where he leaned down and presumably relayed the message. Hermione looked back at them and said something to Ron, who scowled and came back over to Harry and Anthony.

"She says you're acting like me," he said grumpily. "And she's busy."

"Well fine," Harry said, annoyed. "Tell her it's her own fault if she gets eaten by a giant snake."

Ron's eyes popped for a second, but he nodded and started back toward the table. Then he paused and turned around. "Just checking," he said hesitantly. "But is that meant to be a threat?"

Harry threw up his hands. "No, Ron. It isn't meant to be a threat, just a serious worry at the moment. Please tell her we need to talk to her."

Ron nodded and went back to the table to relay the message. Neville and Dudley had taken an interest by this point, and Harry could see the surprised look on their faces when Ron spoke. Hermione stood up, finally, and made her way to the door.

"What on earth are you talking about?" she hissed after she'd come outside properly and shut the door. "That Heir of Slytherin business is done with, Harry. That wasn't funny at all."

"It isn't done with, though, Hermione," Harry said. Anthony nodded next to him.

"We just heard the snake," Anthony informed her. "It's still in the walls."

"It's just realised that it's master isn't coming back," Harry said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder again. "I think it's figured out that it can do what it wants now, and it's hungry."

Hermione stared at them, speechless.

"We were thinking," Anthony told her. "We wanted to look up what kind of snake is huge, man-eating, and can Petrify people. We thought maybe there's a way to kill it. Aside from, you know…fighting it directly and getting your head bitten off."

Hermione still hadn't said a word, but she nodded vigorously.

"But we can't get into the library, because I had my snake in there to teach Anthony, and Madam Pince caught us," Harry said urgently. "So can you do it? You can get Dudley and Neville and Ron to help. Just tell Ron he'll be eaten by a great filthy snake if he gives you any trouble."

"We'd wait here to see what you find," Anthony said nervously, "But I'd really rather be somewhere safer than a hallway."

Hermione finally found her voice. "Big, man-eating, can Petrify people," she repeated. Harry nodded. She took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll look. Should you go tell someone, so they can get everyone to safety?"

"That's a good idea," Harry said uncertainly. He really didn't want to be wandering around the school unprotected at the moment, but it probably needed to be done. "So, er, I'll go get Professor Snape, then…"

"Down in the dungeons?" Anthony asked, looking up at the ceiling. "I'll go with you."

"And I'll find which snake it is," Hermione said decisively. Then she turned around and went back into the library, muttering the words, "big, man-eating, can Petrify people," over and over.

Anthony and Harry looked at each other, and started making their way down the hall as silently as possible, straining their ears for any sign of a hiss. They took the first staircase they found down to the ground floor, and from there ran down to the dungeons.

"I'm going to warn Draco and Pansy and Blaise first," Harry said as they passed the Slytherin common room. "You can come in if you want."

"I will," Anthony agreed, and they both breathed easier once inside.

"Harry, there you are," Pansy said from a chair near the fire. Not many people were in the common room. "I thought you were studying." Then she saw Anthony, and the strained look on both their faces, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Where are Blaise and Draco?" Harry asked worriedly. Pansy frowned.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I think they snuck down to the kitchens."

Harry was relieved that they'd stayed below the second floor, but still worried.

"Why didn't they just have Dobby get it for them?" he asked, unhappy.

"The spirit of the thing, Harry," Pansy smiled uncertainly. "You know Draco. Are you two alright?"

"No," Harry said curtly. "Stay here, Pansy. The man-eating snake is still running around school."

Pansy turned white. "What?" she asked incredulously. Harry nodded.

"Don't let anyone leave," he told her. "Tell them what's going on if they try."

He turned around reluctantly to go find Professor Snape, but Pansy's voice called him back.

"Harry, you're not leaving," she said in a sharp voice. "There's a man-eating snake roaming around the school."

"I'm going to get Professor Snape," he told her. "Anthony and Hermione and I are the only ones who know about it so far."

"Merlin," Pansy muttered, shaking her head. "Come back quickly, at least."

"Sure," Harry said, planning to do exactly that. He and Anthony went out into the corridor. It looked darker and less welcoming than usual.

"To Snape's office, then?" Anthony asked, and Harry nodded nervously, leading the way.

They heard footsteps pounding toward them about halfway there, and Harry had to remind himself that snakes didn't have feet before his heart would stop trying to burst out of his ribcage.

It was Neville, running along and looking at something in his hand.

"Neville?" Harry asked hopefully. "Did Hermione figure it out?"

"It was in the first book we looked in," Neville said, panting. "A Basilisk. It kills you with it's stare -"

"No one's died," Harry interrupted.

"Let me finish, would you?" Neville took a shaky breath and finished. "And it petrifies you if you don't look at it directly. Mrs. Norris saw it's reflection in a puddle."

"She was outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Harry remembered, nodding. Myrtle was always flooding the place.

"Justin saw it through Nick, and Oliver Wood saw it in the mirror behind the trophies." Neville finished rattling off this explanation and tilted the object in his hand. It glinted at Harry and he looked at it. It was a hand mirror.

"Hermione borrowed this from some girl in the library and gave it to me," he explained. "She told me to look around corners with it, and if possible, to just use it to look where ever I have to. If I see the snake in it, I'll turn to stone and it won't want to eat me."

Harry shook his head in awe. Hermione was a genius.

"Let's get back to the Slytherin common room, then," Anthony suggested. "I saw mirrors in there, and Pansy is bound to have smaller ones."

Harry and Neville agreed readily, and they started back toward the common room, Neville leading the way, Harry and Anthony staring at the floor with their eyes at half mast.

"By the way, Neville, did she mention a way to kill it?" Harry asked after a moment. Neville jumped and nodded.

"I can't believe I forgot, she told me specifically to tell you. Roosters."

Harry nearly tripped over his feet.

"Roosters?" he asked incredulously.

"'The crowing of the rooster is fatal'," Neville recited. "She made me memorise that. I was so distracted trying to get here without being eaten, I forgot. Sorry."

"It's fine," Harry said, wondering where they would get a rooster.

"Do you think the gamekeeper has roosters?" Anthony asked thoughtfully.

"We can ask him," Neville suggested hopefully. "I know where his hut is, we could go there once we get some mirrors."

All of them quite liked the idea of going outside, despite the cold.

"Alright," Harry concluded. "So we'll get mirrors, tell Snape what's going on, and then we'll go see about getting some roosters from the gamekeeper."

"Harry, that won't work," Anthony said immediately. "The first thing a teacher would do in a case like this is order all students back to their common rooms."

"He's right," Neville agreed. "We won't be able to get outside once the teachers know what's going on, and if we waste time letting them figure out about the roosters, it might be too late and someone could die."

"We can't _not_ tell him," Harry said in exasperation. "Everyone is much more likely to die if they're wandering around the school."

They entered the common room, still trying to think of a way to solve the problem.

"Harry!" Draco appeared in front of them with an anxious Blaise at his side, looking panicked. "What's going on? Pansy said the man-eating snake is going to kill everyone in the school!"

"I did not!" Pansy interjected shrilly. "I said if they leave the common room, they'll get eaten! There's a difference!"

Harry looked around the common room. There were quite a few Slytherins huddled around the fireplace and various tables, looking terrified. It was clear that Pansy had exaggerated quite a bit to keep them all there. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit grateful.

"We need to tell the teachers so they can get everyone back to their common rooms," Harry said. The Slytherins took this as a confirmation of Pansy's tales and it seemed like a terror-induced riot wasn't far from breaking out. Harry sighed.

"Look, the snake was heading up," he said to the common room at large. "We're least likely to be attacked. If anyone has anything to worry about, it's the Gryffindors." This assuaged a lot of the panic. It wouldn't have been too much of a stretch to label a few of them as cheerful now.

"But I do need a few volunteers to go to Snape's office and tell him what's going on," he said. Silence. "Anyone?"

"You'll be safe if you bring a mirror," Anthony offered. "The worst that will happen is that you'll be petrified. It won't eat you then."

Harry reflected that, with the possibility of staying safely in the common room, no Slytherin would see lowering the threat from death to Petrification as a good reason to jump up and volunteer.

"…_so hungry…_"

Harry tensed.

"…_I cannot eat them if they always turn to stone…_"

It sounded like the Basilisk had accidentally Petrified someone this time. Harry was relieved that it hadn't killed them, at least.

"Harry?" Anthony whispered, listening with him. "It's back, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, hoping no one would understand what they meant.

"It's back?" Blaise asked, shocked. He'd said it rather loudly, and no one had to ask what 'it' was.

"Tell it to go away, Potter," Marcus Flint demanded, face pale as a sheet. "Tell it to go eat the Gryffindors instead, or something."

Neville looked highly affronted.

"That's an idea, Harry," Pansy agreed. "Tell it to go away."

There was a general murmur of agreement from the Slytherin crowd, and even Anthony looked keen on the idea, so Harry had no choice but to figure out what to say to a Basilisk to make it 'go away'.

"I might just call attention to us," Harry warned them, but to no avail. "I have no idea what to say," he added half-heartedly.

"Distract it," a sixth year suggested. "Time spent talking to you is time spent not eating us."

Harry wasn't sure if that would work, but no one else seemed to have any better ideas, so he gave it a try.

"_Hello,_" he hissed, wondering if the snake had left already.

"_Hello,_" the snake in the portrait hissed, amused.

Harry frowned. "_Is the large snake still here?_" he asked it, hoping the answer was no.

"_He is on the other side of this room,_" the snake informed him. "_He heard you. I would suggest you hurry if you wish to speak to him. He is impatient and hungry._"

Harry hastened to the other side of the room, and his friends and the crowd of Slytherins followed him curiously.

"_Hello?_" he asked again.

"_Who are you?_" he heard, much more clearly than usual. It had a deep, cold voice, which sounded mildly curious at the moment. "_You do not sound like a snake, but you do not sound like my master either._"

"_I am a Parselmouth,_" Harry responded, hoping that would be adequate.

"_Then you must know my master…_" The snake actually sounded slightly uncertain. Harry took advantage.

"_I do,_" Harry agreed, hoping the snake wouldn't ask many questions about that. "_He is gone for now, and sent me in his place._"

"_I am very hungry…_" the snake told him. "_My master promised me as much food as I wanted if I did as he told me. Where is my food?_"

Harry stared at the wall, unsure of what to do now.

"I heard food," Anthony said. "What's he saying?"

"He says his master promised him food, and he wants me to get it for him," Harry explained.

"How are you supposed to get it food?" Blaise asked.

"It eats humans," Neville pointed out.

"I know," Harry said in exasperation.

"Who are we going to sacrifice then?" Draco asked curiously. Harry blanched.

"We're not sacrificing anyone!" he exclaimed, glaring at Draco.

"Fine," Draco muttered. "But, I mean, I'm not doing very well in Transfiguration at all, and I thought maybe -"

"That isn't funny at all, Draco," Pansy said sternly. "I'm doing very well in Transfiguration, and you aren't screwing that up for me."

"_Where is my food?_" the snake repeated impatiently. Harry turned back to the wall, and a hush fell over the room again.

"_You must wait until the time is right,_" Harry tried hopefully.

"_Master has been saying that for months,_" the snake said irritably. "_He promised me food soon._"

Harry relayed this to the crowd behind him.

"Tell it," a fourth year girl suggested, "That if it calls too much attention to itself, then it's prey will figure out what's going on and it'll be difficult to get any more food."

Harry repeated this to the snake, who became thoughtful.

"_If I wait, I will have more, then?_" it asked him. Harry nodded, then realized that the snake couldn't see him, and remembered how fortunate he was that this was so.

"_Yes,_" he said. "_If you wait, I will be able to get you more food._"

The snake was silent for a moment. "_Hurry, then,_" it told him, and Harry knew that their conversation was over.

* * *


	20. The Rooster

* * *

Harry's conversation with the snake bought them a few months. Harry had told the crowd that the snake had agreed to go back to sleep for several years so that Harry could find it food, and that was the main rumour afloat. Several others were that Harry had threatened the snake into submission, and that Harry had sacrificed the first year Ravenclaw that had been found Petrified in the girl's loo on the fourth floor, a rumour that had probably been started because of Draco's suggestion. But despite the talk, this news coupled with Dumbledore's announcement that the Heir of Slytherin had been captured alleviated the fear that had begun to grip the school. In February, Harry had been buried under a pile of valentines seeking to express thanks for saving them all. He blamed it on Lockhart and his gaudy Valentine's Day celebration.

Meanwhile, Harry and his friends had been trying to figure out what to do with the basilisk.

"You know," Draco suggested one day, "We could always just find something to feed it, then tell it to go back to sleep."

Harry glared at him. "We're not sacrificing McGonagall."

Draco looked away, but Harry had already seen his laughter. "That's not what I meant, Harry," he said in a stifled voice.

"What do you mean then?" Hermione asked him. They were all sitting in the library on one of the rare days where Pansy and Draco joined in. Even Anthony was only sitting a desk or two away.

"What I mean," Draco explained, "Is that there's a whole Forbidden Forest just outside our doors that's filled with all sorts of food for that thing."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "That's an idea," he said thoughtfully. "But how would we get it out to the Forbidden Forest without it killing anyone?"

"And why would we want a great filthy snake roaming around the forest?" Ron cut in incredulously. "My brothers go in there sometimes, they've told me stories. That forest is bad enough without a basilisk."

"If we didn't want to kill it, though, that _would _be our only option," Hermione argued.

"Wait, why don't we want to kill it?" Harry asked. "We'd just need a rooster."

"You try convincing Hagrid to let you borrow one then," Neville said, looking up from his homework and making a face. "He got really suspicious when I asked. Someone's been killing them all year, according to him."

"Well then, we could just find some other way of getting a rooster," Blaise said dismissively.

"We could just take one," Pansy suggested. "I mean, he's got to sleep sometime. We'll just nip into the coop and make off with it."

"We already discussed this; he'll probably have spells up," Hermione said doubtfully. "Especially if someone's been attacking them all year. I doubt it'll be that easy."

"How are we going to get a rooster then?" Blaise asked. "Any suggestions aside from theft?"

"Harry could get Filch to get one from Hagrid," Hermione said. "You're his favourite, aren't you?"

"He might be able to get me one," Harry agreed. "But I'd probably need an excuse…"

"Just tell him it's for an extra credit assignment," Dudley suggested. "You _are_ his favourite."

"I don't know," Harry said uncertainly. "I mean, I'll try, but he might want to know why, and then what do I tell him?"

"Tell him the truth, Harry," Neville said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like you're doing anything wrong, saving us all from a giant evil snake."

The rest of the table stopped talking, surprised.

"He's right," Draco said in bemusement. "We aren't doing anything wrong."

Hermione thought a moment. "And even if we set a rooster loose in the halls, we wouldn't technically be breaking any school rules at all."

The rest of the table considered this.

"Well that's no fun," Pansy said at last, disappointed. "If that's the case, we should definitely steal the rooster."

Hermione spoke up over the muffled laughter of the rest of the group. "You know, since there isn't anything really wrong with what we'd have to do, it would be fairly simple to just tell the teachers and have them set out roosters."

"Some Gryffindor you are!" Draco said in astonishment. "Going running to the teachers at the first sign of adventure!"

Hermione gave him a look and said, "There's no reason why we shouldn't."

"There's no reason why we should, either," Harry said reasonably. "We can deal with this."

"Because we're doing such a great job so far," Ron said sarcastically. "We can't even find a rooster."

Blaise perked up slightly. "I know how to find a rooster! We'll get The Great Harry Potter to ask Dobby for us!"

Harry groaned, but Draco's eyes lit up. "It's perfect! _Dobby!_"

Dobby appeared with a muffled crack.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Harry wants to ask you a question," Draco said, grinning at Harry along with the rest of the group. Harry sighed.

"What is it that The Great Harry Potter desires?" Dobby asked excitedly. "Anything you is wanting, sir, Dobby is getting for you!"

"Er, well, firstly, Dobby, could you not call -"

Blaise elbowed him. "Not now, Harry!"

Harry sighed. "Alright, well then Dobby, could you get us a rooster?"

"Yes, of course!" Dobby agreed. "Dobby will get The Great Harry Potter a rooster immediately!"

"Not in the library!" Hermione said hurriedly, but Dobby had already disappeared with his customary crack. She sighed and stood. "Harry, don't let him bring it in the library," she said pleadingly. "Madame Pince already doesn't like us. Let's not make it worse, please?"

"No, no, Hermione," Blaise soothed, putting a placating arm around her shoulder as they all stood to leave. "Madame Pince doesn't like _Harry_. And probably Draco and Pansy too. Certainly she despises Ron and Dudley, when they're together. But she _loves _you, trust me. I know, because she loves me too."

He smiled over at the desk as they left, and as if to prove his point, Madame Pince didn't glare at him.

"See?" he asked once they were out in the hall. "If that's not love, I don't know what is."

Hermione's response was cut off by Dobby's sudden reappearance.

"Here is your rooster, sir," he said, thrusting a live rooster at Harry proudly. It clucked frantically at the group. Harry reached for it tentatively.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, uncertain if he should mimic Dobby's grip on it's neck. It looked uncomfortable.

"Harry, you're pathetic," Ron said, pushing him aside and taking the rooster expertly. He looked up at the rest of them, only to be met with curious stares.

"What?" he asked defensively. "My mother keeps chickens, got a problem?"

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it. "Can you make it crow on command?" he asked finally. Ron nodded.

"Good," Harry said. "Wait here a moment."

He went back into the library and headed straight for Anthony.

"Do you have the snake?" he asked without preamble. Anthony held up his wrist without looking up from his book.

"Good," Harry said. "I thought you two might want to help me find the basilisk? We're going to get rid of it today."

Anthony dropped his book. "I'm coming!" he said excitedly, picking it up again and stuffing it in his bag haphazardly. "Coming, I'm coming, hang on a second…"

Harry waited while Anthony gathered all his things into his bag, and they made it back to the rest of the group in record time.

"- and you didn't see fit to mention before that you've had access to roosters all this time?" Hermione was asking Ron as they arrived. Ron looked sheepish.

"If I asked my mum for a rooster, she'd ask questions," he explained. "I couldn't tell her I was going to kill a giant snake with it, she'd think I'm worse than Fred and George."

"You could've asked for one for your birthday," Dudley suggested. "Instead of that Chudley Cannons poster."

Ron seemed appalled at the very idea. "It wouldn't have worked anyway," he assured them. "Easter break is coming up, I could've just smuggled one back to school then, how about that?"

"Doesn't matter anymore," Pansy interrupted in exasperation. "Although, for future reference, you should probably inform the rest of us next time you have exactly what we need to save the school from certain death clucking about in your garden, Weasley."

Ron blushed. "I'll keep that in mind," he agreed, shamefaced.

"We're ready," Harry interrupted, and Anthony raised his wrist to show them the snake. "So I guess what'll happen is Anthony and I will lure the snake somewhere, and Ron'll make the rooster crow?"

"Sounds good," Draco said with a nod.

"Where, though?" Neville asked curiously. "We can't just let it die anywhere."

There was a moment of silence.

"That's a good point," Blaise said thoughtfully.

They all thought on it, and after a moment, Draco smirked. "I know."

Harry looked at him curiously, to which he responded, "Basilisk skin is a very rare potions ingredient."

Pansy caught on immediately. "So is the venom," she added with a wicked grin.

Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors were clueless, staring at them both in confusion. Harry looked over at Blaise, who had a devious smirk on his face as well. Harry felt an identical one grow slowly on his face.

"Any Potions Master would give anything for just a pint of basilisk blood," Blaise informed them.

Hermione caught on. "You're not honestly thinking of…"

"Why on earth not?" Pansy asked. "We're going to capture and kill it. We'll have more rights to it than anyone else."

"We'll have to give Professor Snape a few free samples," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Or rather, Harry will. I always thought he could like you with just a little push, Harry."

Harry grinned. "So where would be the easiest place to harvest?" he asked Draco.

"We'd have to find out where it gets out of the pipes to attack people," Anthony said. "That would obviously be the best option."

"You could just tell it to meet you somewhere outside the pipes," Pansy suggested.

Ron made an indistinct, terrified sound in the back of his throat.

"Too risky," Harry agreed. "We don't know how far it would have to travel to get there. It could too easily stop for a snack on the way."

"So ask it, then," Neville said. "And have it meet you there."

"And how are we going to move it afterward?" Ron asked incredulously. "Where are we putting this great filthy snake?"

"Dobby," Pansy said with a shrug. "He can move it for us, and he can keep it somewhere until we have a chance to chop it up for ingredients."

"Brilliant," Draco said, clapping his hands. "Now go find that snake, Harry."

Harry looked over at Anthony, who had brought their snake out already and had been talking to it.

"_We're going to find the big snake now?_" she asked, winding her way around Anthony's wrist eagerly.

"_Yes,_" Harry agreed. "_Any idea where he is?_"

The snake paused, testing the air with her tongue. "_Down,_" she said confidently.

"Down," Harry repeated in English. They all set off for the nearest staircase.

"_How far down?_" Anthony asked as they walked.

"_Very far,_" the snake told him. "_You could call him, though. I am sure he would hear you._"

Harry stopped in his tracks, and Neville bumped into him from behind. "Sorry," he said distractedly, and lifted Anthony's arm so that he could see the snake better.

"_How would he hear me from so far away?_" he asked. "_Would I have to call very loudly?_"

"_Not very,_" the snake responded. "_Just call him. He will know. It would probably help to invoke his master's name, but he will know._"

Harry blinked. "_Invoke his master's name?_"

"_Sorry about that,_" Anthony said, still in Parseltongue. "_I was explaining about the Heir thing, and she wanted to know all about it._"

"_Alright, so how would I invoke his master?_" Harry asked.

The snake did something strange that Harry assumed was equivalent to a shrug. Anthony shrugged too.

"_I would assume that you would call him by…_Slytherin's name?" Anthony switched back to English apologetically.

"_Slytherin's name,_" Harry translated.

"That was really weird," Draco said from behind them. "Just thought you should know."

Harry blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You two were hissing at each other, and all of a sudden it was English again," Neville explained.

"And couldn't you use English when you're speaking to each other?" Hermione asked. "We want to know what's going on too."

"But then she would feel left out," Anthony said, holding the snake up significantly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "So what's happening then, since the rest of us actually _were_ left out of that conversation?"

"I'm going to call the basilisk," Harry told them. "Apparently I can do that, even from a distance."

"Go on then," she said. Everyone nodded and waited expectantly. Harry took a deep breath and tried it.

"_I have no idea what to say,_" he told Anthony and the snake. "_Something like, I dunno, 'Come to me basilisk, in Slytherin's name'?_"

"_Sounds good,_" Anthony said agreeably. "_Give it a try._"

Harry cleared his throat. "_Come to me basilisk, in Slyth-_"

"_I am coming, master._"

Harry froze instinctively. "It worked," he said uncertainly in English.

"Ask it where," Draco urged. Ron tightened his hold on the rooster.

"_Where do you go to get out of the pipes?_" Harry asked. He thought he could hear the faint sound of something heavy slithering through the walls, and hoped it was just his imagination.

"_There is a door on the second floor,_" the snake told him. It wasn't as close as he'd imagined, but it was closer than he'd hoped. "_Do you want me to leave the pipes, master?_"

"_Tell me exactly where, first,_" Harry said, heading for the staircase to the second floor. Anthony led the rest of the group, translating what he could.

"_It is very damp and sometimes dirty,_" the snake explained. It was definitely closer. "_I am going there now. It has many pipes. Mine is just the biggest._"

"Second floor, very damp, sometimes dirty, many pipes," Harry said in English, surprising his friends. He thought for a moment. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!"

"_I know it,_" he told the basilisk. "_Wait there for me. Do not leave._"

"_You are bringing me food now?_" the basilisk demanded. Harry swallowed with difficulty as they neared the bathroom.

"_Yes,_" he said as sincerely as possible.

"_I smell it,_" the basilisk said, and his icy voice sounded almost cheerful. "_I smell lots of blood._"

"_Good,_" Harry said, noting approvingly that Anthony hadn't translated that last bit. "_Let me bring it inside to you. I do not want you to be seen._"

"_I smell something else,_" the basilisk said suddenly. Harry paused, outside the door to the bathroom now.

"Ron, make the rooster crow _now,_" Anthony said urgently.

"_That is not a good smell,_" the snake said angrily. "_Why do you have that smell with you?_"

"_What smell do you mean?_" Harry asked, waving frantically at Ron, who was fumbling with the rooster. The rest of the group watched him in wide eyed terror, which appeared to be making him more nervous.

"_That is the smell of my death,_" the basilisk said in chilling tones. Harry could hear it shifting restlessly. "_You are not my master if you bring that smell to me._"

"Ron!"

"I'm trying!" he said frantically. "Bugger this…" He pulled out his wand and stuck it in front of the rooster's face. "_Lumos!_"

The rooster crowed.

They stood there outside the door to the bathroom in silence for a moment.

"Did it work?" Dudley asked in a timid voice.

"Er…"

"_Is he dead?_" Anthony asked the snake. She flicked her tongue out toward the bathroom.

"_He is,_" she confirmed. Harry felt the tension melt off of him.

"He's dead," he repeated to the rest of them.

"Oh thank Merlin," Blaise said weakly. Neville and Hermione both sank down to the floor, to be joined immediately afterward by everyone else.

"…we did it," Ron said after a moment of silence. He grinned. "We actually did it!"

They all grinned at each other. "We did, didn't we?" Harry said happily, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom. "You know, I think I could probably put up an 'Out of Order' sign on the door. No one uses it anyway, I'm sure Filch wouldn't mind if I take it over."

"Perfect!" Draco said. "We could turn it into our own little potions lab!"

"Okay, we'll do that then," Hermione said, pulling a piece of parchment out of her bag and handing it to Harry. Harry wrote the words 'Out of Order' on it and posted it on the door. After a moment's thought, he also added a locking charm for good measure.

"How long do you think it'll take us to…harvest everything from the body?" Hermione asked distastefully. "Because the Easter holidays are coming up soon, and the term ends soon after that, and anyway, we've got exams. How are we going to have time to do this?"

"So we learn some preservation spells," Pansy said carelessly. "There are…" she counted them all. "Nine of us, Merlin. It'll take no time at all, especially if some of us use the holiday to do it."

"I'm not going home," Harry volunteered.

"You're not?" Dudley asked, surprised. "Don't you want to?"

Harry frowned uncertainly. Did he want to?

"I'm _not_ doing it all myself," Blaise said. "Pansy and Draco are going home, so that means you have to stay and help, Harry."

"I'm staying," Neville volunteered. "I'll help."

"I'm staying too," Ron said. "Hermione is too, right?"

Hermione nodded. "There'll be plenty of people to help."

"I'm going home," Anthony informed them. "But I want to help. Save the venom for me, would you?"

"Not a problem," Blaise assured him. "So are you going home or staying, Harry?" he asked.

Harry bit his lip, looking between Dudley and Blaise.

"Dad's got all sorts of plans," Dudley informed him hopefully. "He's said nothing but good things about you since I told him about what happened with the book."

This wasn't entirely new, but it was enough that Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to do now. The idea of Uncle Vernon actually liking him had been unthinkable as little as six months ago. Harry looked at Blaise anxiously. Blaise shook his head with a sigh.

"Just go, if you really want to," he told him.

Harry considered his hands for a moment. "If you're sure it'll be okay," he told Dudley. Dudley grinned at him.

"It will be."

* * *


	21. The Bathroom

* * *

"Harry, look!" Dudley tugged Harry toward the Reptile House with eager excitement. Uncle Vernon followed them inside proprietarily.

Harry had agreed to go home with Dudley for the Easter holiday. Today Uncle Vernon had taken them on an outing to the London Zoo, which had been fun so far. The entire holiday had been fun so far, as a matter of fact. It had left Harry quite surprised.

Harry followed him inside in amusement. "I don't see anything special, Dudley, it's just a bunch of snakes."

Dudley rolled his eyes, staring around at all the cages. No one was near the three of them.

"Harry can speak to snakes, Dad," Dudley informed his father. Harry glanced at Uncle Vernon apprehensively.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "Erm, can he?" he asked with uncertain surprise. He looked down at Harry for a moment, his moustache twitching as he contemplated it. Dudley nodded and pulled them over to the largest snake in the place.

"Say something to it, Harry!" he whispered, looking around at the few other patrons of the Reptile House. They were still mostly alone.

Harry furrowed his brow and looked at the snake. It had been sleeping, but had woken up when they came over and was looking inquisitively at Harry now.

Harry nodded to it and said, "_Hello._"

He could tell Uncle Vernon had tensed slightly behind him, and was looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"_Good afternoon,_" the snake said interestedly. "_Not many people take the time to extend a greeting to me, you know._"

"What did it say?" Dudley asked, fascinated. "Isn't that cool, Dad?"

"What can you speak to, Dudley?" Uncle Vernon asked, hopefully. "Did you take a language course too?"

"Oh, Harry didn't take a language course," Dudley said airily. "He just speaks Parseltongue. I've no idea how he learned it. But at the end of the year, he used it to lure this great giant snake that was attacking people from out of the pipes and Ron and I used the rooster and killed it!"

Uncle Vernon's beady eyes widened in shock. "You killed a giant snake with a rooster?"

Harry listened with a smile as Dudley told his father all about the basilisk. The snake in the cage was telling Harry about life in the zoo now, but it didn't take much of Harry's attention to come up with the required response.

"_And then at three thirty on Thursdays, I__'__m given two large rats, as a treat,_" the snake continued. "_The human boys especially love watching that, I__'__m very popular on Thursdays, you know._"

Harry nodded. "_That sounds fascinating,_" he hissed agreeably. Now Dudley was telling his father about all their friends, and how Hermione had wanted him to study over the holiday.

"-but I know Harry isn't going to study either, and anyway, we're always in the library, Ron says it's mad. He says we should be practicing Quidditch so we can both try out next year. Harry's already on Slytherin team, aren't you Harry?"

"We've only got one game left this year," Harry agreed, noting that Uncle Vernon had perked up and lost a bit of that shocked coloring now that they'd moved on to sports. "Against Hufflepuff. Flint says we've won the Cup for sure."

"Yeah, but next year, when Ron and I are on Gryffindor's team, we'll knock you lot on your arses," Dudley said excitedly.

Harry laughed. "If you can get your fat bottom off the ground on a broom, we'll see," he said jokingly, then looked up at Uncle Vernon uncertainly.

Dudley laughed. "You're so scrawny, you should be more worried that I'll knock you off your broom!"

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat gruffly. "What do you do on the – er….broom?"

"Well, Harry's a Seeker, so he's meant to catch the Snitch, it's just one of the balls, nothing to it, really-"

"Nothing to it, sure…" Harry grumbled, though he was smiling. Uncle Vernon hadn't looked angry once today. Awkward, yes, shocked and confused, repeatedly, but not angry. It was nice.

"But the position I'm going to try out for is Beater," Dudley said proudly. "We get to have this big stick and there are these metal balls that we get to hit at people…"

Uncle Vernon brightened considerably at this news. "So you're the strongest position on the field then, I expect?"

Dudley nodded eagerly. "There are two on a team, and we're the only ones who get to have a bat."

"Aren't the Weasley twins Beaters for Gryffindor?" Harry asked curiously. He distinctly remembered being warned to avoid the twins on the field in both games he'd played against Gryffindor. He didn't think Dudley was going to be replacing them any time soon.

"Ron's brothers?" Dudley nodded, unfazed. "Yeah, they're amazing at it too, aren't they? They've told me they'll train me for when they leave, and until then I'll be a reserve."

"_Excuse me,_" the snake hissed behind him. "_Are you paying me any attention at all? I was telling you how I killed the rats last Thursday! It was art, my audience was positively astounded…._"

* * *

"…it was truly amazing, I assure you, I was astounding! That ghoul didn't know what hit him!"

Harry was sitting impatiently at the back of the Defense classroom. The holidays had ended two days ago, and now they were all back to work. Harry was waiting on the edge of his seat for Lockhart to let them go so that he could get back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and start working on the venom extraction with Anthony, assuming Hermione and the rest of them had finished with the blood.

Draco nudged him and Harry realized that Lockhart had asked him a question.

"Er…you, Professor Lockhart?" he hazarded. Lockhart beamed his large white teeth at him.

"Precisely, Harry! Five points to Slytherin!"

Harry nodded absently and looked over at Draco, who rolled his eyes elaborately and held up his watch discreetly. Class was just about over. Thank Merlin.

"…three feet on my defeat of the…"

"I think we should tell Professor Snape about the basilisk," Draco said in a low voice.

"What?" Harry asked, packing up his things as Lockhart finally dismissed them. "Why would we do that?"

"Well you know we've been working around the eyes," Draco said. "We'll eventually have to figure out what to do with them, and he's bound to know."

"He's also bound to confiscate the whole thing," Harry pointed out reasonably as they joined Pansy and Blaise at the door and left the classroom. "And quite possibly get us into a load of trouble."

"For saving the school from a man eating snake?" Pansy asked skeptically. "Somehow I'm expecting something more along the lines of a hundred points each and an Order of Merlin. Imagine it!"

Draco grinned at them and stuck out his chest, strutting down the hall and turning around to face them again. "What, this old thing? Oh, that's just my Order of Merlin, First Class," he said carelessly, picking a bit of dust off his shoulder and sticking his nose up in an exaggerated manner. "Why did I get it? Nothing important, I just killed a giant basilisk that was threatening the school children. I'm a hero or something, whatever. Oh no, no photographs necessary. Of course I'll sign it for you, what kind of hero would I be if I didn't sometimes smile upon my adoring public?"

They all sniggered and followed him down the hall. "Alright, Lockhart," Blaise said, laughing as Draco continued strutting as they went down the staircase.

Draco grinned briefly before resuming his act. "And of course," he added in a grand voice, "Lets not forget how I first blinded the foul beast, rendering it's eyes useless, before delivering the fatal blow with a swish of my long, able wand! Harry, my boy, come here and allow me to demonstrate."

Harry laughed and ducked away as Draco came at him, brandishing a quill.

"Don't be silly, Harry, you should consider it an honour to be invited to have your eyes poked out by me!" Draco grinned devilishly and waved the quill like a sword. "Come back here and let me disfigure you!"

"Never!" Harry cried, and Blaise laughed out loud as Harry pulled out his own quill and waved it threateningly at Draco, who raised one eyebrow challengingly.

"You dare challenge me?" he asked, advancing on Harry in what would have been a threatening manner, if he hadn't been laughing at the time.

Harry raised his chin defiantly. "You'll never take me alive."

They fought with their quills all the way to the bathroom, Pansy and Blaise watching in high amusement and rooting for whoever looked like they were winning at the time. When they got to the door, though, they called a truce and agreed that Harry could keep his eyes if he gave Draco his Order of Merlin back. They shook hands on it, and only then did they drop the game and enter the bathroom.

Hermione, Ron, Neville and Dudley were all already there, and there were several large jugs filled with blood standing next to them. Hermione and Neville were siphoning the blood out of the snake with their wands while Ron and Dudley made sure that it all made it to the containers.

"Hi, everyone," Harry said, dropping his bag by a sink and rolling up his sleeves. Pansy echoed him and hung her bag on a hook by the mirror instead.

"We were talking on the way here about telling Professor Snape," Blaise told them. Hermione frowned thoughtfully as Ron grimaced behind her.

"I would feel safer with a teacher involved when we do get to the eyes," she agreed. "But how do we know he won't confiscate everything?"

"Maybe we should just let him keep the eyes," Neville suggested. "They're supposed to be more valuable than the rest of the basilisk, aren't they? He should be happy with that."

"But how do we know he won't just confiscate everything?" Ron reiterated heatedly. "He could come in here, see all this and say, 'Detention! Illegal harvesting of snake bits!', and then keep it all for himself, no matter what we offer him!"

"We found it, we killed it, it's ours," Draco told him assuredly. "We gathered these potions ingredients, that's all we have to say. The upper years do it for class sometimes. We'll just make sure he sees it that way."

"Filch has already told you we can use this room, right?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "So we even have permission. We aren't doing anything wrong. He can't confiscate it."

"And I'll bet he won't even try if we tell him he can keep the eyes," Blaise said matter-of-factly. "I say we ask him for help today and get it over with. We haven't got much longer until term ends."

"Yes, and if he's helping, we'll be able to study for exams without having to worry so much about this whole problem," Hermione said brightly. "I feel like I've lost so much time in the library lately."

Ron rolled his eyes at Dudley behind her back, and Dudley grinned at him, shrugging his shoulders.

"Alright, let's finish with the blood first, though, we're nearly done," Ron said. "And then we'll hide that, and even if he does take everything else, we'll still have something."

Pansy laughed at him. "Paranoid," she remarked in amusement. "Blaise and Harry and I will ask him. He won't take anything we don't want him to."

* * *

"…So you understand, sir, why we came to you," Blaise finished, setting the piece of basilisk skin they'd brought with them down on his desk.

Professor Snape examined the skin again, minutely. "You want me to harvest the eyes for you?"

"Yes, none of us wants to have any accidents happen," Pansy explained. "And you're an expert at this sort of thing, sir."

Professor Snape stared up at them all for a moment, then back down at the skin.

"We've all agreed that, since you're helping us with the eyes, you can keep them," Harry informed him. Professor Snape's eyebrows went up for a moment, before his face became blank again.

"I suppose that keeping the eyes would be…adequate payment for my assistance," he agreed, standing immediately.

Blaise darted a look at Harry when Professor Snape's back was to them, heading out of the door. He mouthed the word 'adequate' at Harry incredulously.

The three of them caught up to Professor Snape in the hallway. "We feel that the eyes are more than adequate payment, Professor," Harry said, as respectfully as possible.

Snape looked down at them in silence for a moment as they walked. "I suppose they are," he said finally. "I will, of course, have to inform Professor Dumbledore of your story. He will take the appropriate action, but I think twenty-five points each to Slytherin for bringing this to my attention will cover it for now."

Anthony had appeared by the time they arrived back at the bathroom with Professor Snape in tow. He was wearing dragon hide gloves, separating each fang meticulously from the basilisk's mouth, root and all, catching all the venom that escaped with a container charm. He nodded distractedly at them as they walked in.

Professor Snape had stopped in the doorway and was taking in every inch of the basilisk with unfathomable eyes. Harry watched him note the cloth thrown over most of the basilisk's head, and the segments of skin that were being carefully stripped away in long rectangles by Hermione and an unusually serious looking Ron and Draco.

"Professor?" Blaise asked, pointing him toward the cloth-covered eyes. Professor Snape nodded and set to work.

"All of you should stay on the other side of the creature," he said, pulling a long, heavy pair of gloves from his robes and putting them on. Anthony stepped reluctantly away from his work and hurried over to join the others next to the skin Hermione and Ron were slicing off. "The eyes are the most dangerous part of the basilisk," Snape lectured as he summoned a pair of oddly reflective glasses and began extracting them carefully. "Longbottom, can you tell me why?"

Neville blinked, surprised. "The basilisk's stare will kill you, sir, even if it's dead."

"Exactly." He tilted his head so that they could see their reflections in his glasses. "Indirectly, the stare of the basilisk will merely petrify you, but with the added magical effect of the mirrors on these spectacles, as long as I do not look at the iris or pupil for an extended period of time, the worst that will happen is a mild headache."

Hermione and Blaise were listening to him raptly, and Hermione looked as though she wanted desperately to be writing this down. Harry and the rest watched interestedly as Professor Snape efficiently detached the basilisk's eyes and packed them neatly into a cloth-lined box. As he turned to leave, he let his eyes drift over each of them before catching on Anthony.

"The nine of you appear to have this under control, so I will not interfere unless it is absolutely necessary," Professor Snape said. "The rest of the basilisk is not harmful, but the venom will eat through your skin. You were correct to wear dragon hide; however, it would be prudent of you to augment your shielding charm with protective eyewear of some sort." He paused. "Give me your glasses, Goldstein."

Anthony blinked and handed them over. Professor Snape tapped them with his wand and they became much larger and curved in at the sides. He tapped them again and handed them back.

"That should be sufficient. There is a protective charm on them that the venom should not be able to penetrate. Finite Incantatem will put them back to rights after you have finished."

Anthony looked surprised. "Thank you, Professor," he said. Professor Snape nodded briskly and turned to leave.

"Do not hesitate to find me if you run into any more problems," he said as he swept out the door. "Filch is not as well equipped to deal with affairs of this nature as I am."

They all stood in stunned silence as the door shut.

"That went surprisingly well," Pansy said after a moment. Anthony adjusted his glasses with a small smile and got back to work.

* * *

After that, Professor Snape was noticeably more polite to the group that had harvested the basilisk. He was by no means nice, especially not to Neville, Hermione, Ron and Dudley, but he was now far more likely to pick on other Gryffindors in class than them. Even Harry noticed a difference in how Professor Snape treated him.

"He actually looks me in the face now," Harry told Draco one day after class. "Its strange, I didn't even realize he wasn't before."

Dumbledore called them all up to his office one day not long after Professor Snape had done the eyes for them to tell them how dangerous what they had done was, and how they would each be receiving twenty five points and their names on a plaque saying that they had done a service to the school.

Draco decided to celebrate by taking a break from studying, and the rest of the Slytherins joined him in escaping. There were only two weeks left until exams, and Hermione had increased their study group from three times a week to every day but Saturday and Monday, as Harry worked on Mondays and even Blaise refused to meet six times a week.

Neville and Dudley joined Hermione in the library, but Ron announced that too much studying made his head ache, and he joined Harry and Draco in their escape. The three of them went to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, because they were nearly done and Ron insisted (and Draco agreed) that if they left anything over the summer, it would be rotten by the time they returned in September, if Professor Snape hadn't already taken it.

They worked until just before dinner, at which point Ron declared that his stomach was empty and that this needed to be fixed. They left the bathroom in high spirits, only to bump into a much taller, neater, and more shocked looking version of Ron.

"Ron?" he asked, scandalized. "Were you in the…what were you doing in the girls bathroom?"

Harry looked from Ron to his older brother, noting that the tips of both their ears were red.

"We were…"

"Er…that is…"

"I don't know what you were doing in there," the older Weasley said, fingering his prefect badge and eyeing the three of them, "But if I catch you or your friends in the girl's loo again, there will be consequences, Ronald."

He gave them one last ominous look and hurried off. Harry, Draco and Ron all stared after him.

"Relative of yours?" Draco asked conversationally. Ron blushed.

"My older brother, Percy," he said, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about him." Two more redheads had appeared, identical this time. Harry recognised them as the Gryffindor Beaters, Fred and George.

"Yeah, he's just a git," one of the twins said.

"A git with a secret," the first one added mysteriously, draping an arm over Ron's shoulder.

"It won't be a secret for long, though," said the other, winking at them. "We'll figure him out."

"Too right we will," the twin paused for a moment and eyed the Slytherin crests on Draco and Harry's robes. "What's this? Our ickle Ronnikins is chumming around with Slytherins?"

"Not just any Slytherins, Fred," said a twin, presumably George. He was staring at Harry. "This one is Harry Potter."

Harry met their stares uncertainly.

"You took the Cup from Gryffindor," Fred said accusingly. "We could have had it this year, too!"

"Sorry?" Harry asked hesitantly. Draco elbowed him.

"He's not sorry," Draco said, giving Harry a look. "He's just better than your Seeker."

George rolled his eyes. "Too right,"

"McLaggen hasn't a clue what he's doing."

"If he had stayed out of the way in the last match, we could have had a chance!"

"Say, what _were_ you three doing in the girl's loo?" Fred asked, changing the subject abruptly. Ron's ears went red again.

"Er…"

* * *

Exams came and went. At the end of it all, Hermione had to be restrained from marching up to Professor Dumbledore's office to demand that Lockhart be removed.

"It's the same exact test as the one at the beginning of the year!" she bawled angrily, brandishing the tests. "He didn't even change the questions around! Did he honestly think no one would notice? And what have we learned from him this year?"

"Don't let pixies loose in a classroom," Neville volunteered, backing away when she turned to face him.

"A werewolf's dying howl is ten percent agony and ninety percent enthusiasm for the part," Harry said under his breath. Pansy heard him and bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"All I'm saying, Hermione, is that going up to Dumbledore's office and yelling all this at him is not going to help," Blaise said reasonably.

"Right," Ron said, letting her sleeves go. "So…calmly, with no yelling, okay?"

Hermione took a deep, angry breath and nodded.

They all followed her up to the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Dumbledore's office, only to stop dead at the scene.

There were Ravenclaws everywhere, and they looked furious.

Harry saw Anthony in the crowd clamouring to get into Dumbledore's office and waved him over.

"What's going on?" he asked, waving at the crowd. Anthony looked around at it all and shrugged.

"We're quite disgruntled," he explained blithely. "Lockhart's test -"

"Yes, exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, and Ron couldn't grab her fast enough; she disappeared into the throng.

Neville shook his head. "Let her go," he said wisely. "She'll be happier this way."

They all stared after her for a moment. Draco shook his head suddenly and frowned.

"Lockhart's was the last of the exams," he said, looking around at them all. "Why are we still in this stuffy castle?"

"I've told you," Anthony said, gesturing to the crowd. "We're disgruntled because of Lockhart's ridiculous test. We're aiming to have him sacked, although from the sound of it the seventh years want to put him in St. Mungos. They're not happy about their NEWTS. "

"Right," Draco said, turning on his heel and grabbing Harry and Blaise's arms. "We are going outside."

Harry grabbed Anthony and Dudley, Dudley grabbed Ron and Neville, and Blaise grabbed Pansy, who tugged free and followed the boys with her dignity intact as they rushed down the stairs and out into the sunlight in a tangled knot of laughter.

_

* * *

  
_


	22. The Visit

* * *

"The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up…"

"Boys, don't forget that your Aunt Marge is arriving today," Uncle Vernon said over the television as he finished his toast. "I expect you both to be dressed smartly."

Dudley and Harry nodded. Summer had been wonderful to Harry so far, a whole carefree month of writing back and forth with his friends and joining Dudley in avoiding Hermione's questions about their homework. He should have known it wouldn't come without a price. Harry poked at his bacon and sighed.

Uncle Vernon noticed this and his moustache twitched. "I'm letting you leave tomorrow, _and_ I signed that Hogsmeade paper of yours," he said, addressing Harry directly. "You can mind your manners around your aunt while you're still here."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry intoned. Uncle Vernon gave him one last look before saying goodbye and leaving for the station.

Uncle Vernon had informed them of Aunt Marge's visit a week ago, and Harry had immediately written to all of their friends, looking for a place to escape to for the week. Neville had been the only one to respond affirmatively, and so now Harry was planning on spending a week with Neville and his greenhouses, which he had sounded very excited about showing Harry in his reply.

Dudley speared another sausage and blinked, suddenly remembering something.

"Oh! I didn't tell you, did I?" He grinned and pulled a letter out of his pocket, handing it to Harry. "Ron's dad won the lottery, their owl arrived this morning with the news!"

Harry opened the letter and grinned at the newspaper clipping that had been included with the note. "Lucky I didn't ask to stay with him then, eh? I'd be in Egypt."

"Lucky?" Dudley asked incredulously. "They've got loads of cool stuff there! Three headed skeletons and all sorts!"

Harry laughed as he reached that part of the letter. "He says the last one was so bad his little sister wasn't even allowed in to see. Wonder what it was, he doesn't say."

They spent a while trying to think up things that could be worse than a three headed skeleton, becoming more and more gruesome and inventive as they went. The day was spent doing little else until Uncle Vernon got home, at which point they both put on nice clothing and went downstairs to greet him and Aunt Marge. They heard the crunch of gravel outside and Harry pulled the door open with a feeling of mild foreboding.

Aunt Marge stood on the threshold, suitcase under one arm and bulldog under the other.

"Dudders!" she roared, thrusting the suitcase into Harry's arms and coming inside to greet Dudley with a hug , a kiss, and a twenty pound note. "How's my little neffy-poo?"

Uncle Vernon followed her inside, smiling jovially as he shut the door behind him.

"Tea, Marge?" he asked, heading for the kitchen. "And what will Ripper take?"

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," Marge said as the proceeded to the kitchen. "I'm so sorry about Petunia, Vernon. I always said that woman was a bit high strung…"

Harry watched them head into the kitchen as he adjusted his grip on Aunt Marge's bag. He reminded himself as he hauled it up the stairs that he was leaving tomorrow, and all he had to do was avoid Aunt Marge as much as possible until then. Hopefully, he would be able to use packing as an excuse and escape to his room after dinner.

He took a long time in putting Aunt Marge's suitcase away, so that by the time he got back, she had already been supplied with tea and fruitcake and was discussing her bulldogs with Uncle Vernon as Ripper lapped away noisily in the corner.

"…He pines if he's away from me."

Ripper began to growl as Harry sat down, directing Aunt Marge's attention toward him for the first time.

"So," she barked. "Still here, are you?" Uncle Vernon began to look slightly uncomfortable.

"Yes," Harry said. He saw Uncle Vernon's face and added, "Ma'am."

Aunt Marge seemed slightly mollified by addition. Uncle Vernon took the opportunity to cut in.

"The boy is really shaping up these days," he told her. "He's got himself a job that pays for his schooling. He's even been accepted to the same school as Dudders."

Aunt Marge's eyebrows went up and she looked back at Harry.

"Is that so?" she asked with a note of approval. "Finally decided to contribute to society, have you? Stop being a burden on your hardworking uncle?"

Harry bit his tongue. "Yes, ma'am," he repeated with difficulty.

"Well done, Vernon," she said with a curt nod. "He's a credit to your rearing skills. No doubt that ex-wife of yours was keeping it from showing. I never did understand what you saw in her, no offence meant, you understand…"

Harry stopped listening at that point, noting the look on Dudley's face. He wasn't taking the jibes toward his mother very well. He looked extremely upset and his knuckles were white on his fork. Uncle Vernon looked uncomfortable as well, but he wasn't taking it quite as badly as Dudley was.

"…There was just something _wrong_ with that woman - "

_Crack!_

Aunt Marge's teacup split in half in her hand, spilling tea all over the tablecloth and her clothing.

"Goodness, Marge," Uncle Vernon said, standing up immediately to get a dishcloth. "Are you alright?"

"I apologise," Aunt Marge grunted, mopping up a bit of the mess with her napkin. "Must've squeezed it too hard, did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day…I have a very firm grip, you know."

Uncle Vernon glanced at Dudley and Harry with a mildly suspicious yet grateful look as he wiped up the tea and changed the subject.

"Heard the news this morning, Marge?" he asked, wringing out the dishtowel. "What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

* * *

Harry and Dudley had escaped from the table directly after desert, and they were up in Harry's room now, packing Harry's things for his visit to Neville's house.

"I wish I could come with you," Dudley said, flipping through one of Harry's photo albums morosely. "I don't much like Aunt Marge right now. Was she always this bad?"

Harry dumped a stack of shirts into his trunk and looked up at him. "Pretty much," he admitted. "She's really good at it, actually. Maybe Uncle Vernon will talk to her. I can't imagine he appreciates her talking about Aunt Petunia like that any more than you do."

"It was horrible of her, though," Dudley said softly, and Harry understood he was talking about Aunt Petunia now. "Leaving like she did. After I stopped being so sad, I was really angry at her."

Harry nodded and stayed silent, letting Dudley talk. He hadn't said anything about Aunt Petunia to Harry since he'd retreated into Riddle's book last year.

"It's been almost a year, you know. Since she left."

Harry nodded again. He remembered as well as Dudley did.

"She hasn't even written. I don't even know what's happened to her," Dudley said unhappily. "I tried sending her a letter by owl, but it came back unopened. That probably wasn't the best idea."

Harry had not known about this at all. He sat down on the bed next to Dudley, who had pulled his legs up and was leaning against the wall.

"You wrote her a letter?" he asked curiously. Dudley nodded.

"I thought of maybe sending it to her through the post, but I didn't know where to send it. Our grandparents on that side died before we were born, and we don't have any other living family on Mum's side."

Harry frowned. He had known his grandparents were dead, but he hadn't known when it had happened. "How do you know when grandma and grandpa died?" he asked.

"Mum told me all about them when we were little," Dudley said, momentarily sidetracked. "There are pictures in the albums, Harry. Didn't you ever wonder who they were?"

"I wasn't allowed to look in the albums," Harry said with a frown. "I don't even know where they are. There's one picture of them in the ones Uncle Vernon gave me for Christmas first year, but otherwise I've not seen any."

Dudley seemed to perk up a bit. "I'll tell you about them," he said, standing up. "Let me go get the pictures first, though. You need the pictures for the stories."

Harry waited bemusedly as Dudley ran downstairs to wherever the photo albums were kept. Dudley had seemed happy to be distracted from his search for his self-exiled mother, even if it meant bringing back memories of her by telling Harry her stories. At least they were happy stories. Harry heard Dudley running up the stairs, and moments later he burst in with a stack of albums, plopped them down on the bed next to Harry, and sat down, already riffling through one.

"Here's one from Grandma's birthday," Dudley said, pointing out one of their grandmother with a dismayed look on her face and a fork in her hand. Harry grinned. "Grandpa made her a cake, Mum said you can tell by the look on Grandma's face, she's just taken a bite, see…"

* * *

After breakfast the next day, Harry was packed and waiting in the garden for Neville to arrive. Harry had stressed the need for muggle transportation, warning Neville that his muggle aunt would be visiting, and that she was very nosy. He had put his trunk in the box Pansy had given him for his birthday last year, and put that and some clothing in a pack so that Aunt Marge and the neighbours wouldn't question his strange luggage. He had decided to take his snake along as well, and she was wound around his wrist under his shirt, napping. Now he just had to wait.

Dudley sat next to him, having brought out some lemonade and some regular playing cards so that they could enjoy the sunshine while they waited for Neville. It wasn't as much fun playing Exploding Snap when you knew that the cards weren't actually going to explode, but they gave it a go anyway.

"Boom!" Dudley exclaimed eventually, throwing his cards into the air and grinning. "You lose!"

Harry laughed. "How do I lose? It was your cards that exploded!"

"You have less points than I do, though, look." Dudley picked up his cards from where they'd fallen and showed them to Harry. Harry gave him an incredulous look.

"Is that how we're going to play it then?" he asked, shuffling the cards again. "Once you know your cards are better, blow them up?"

Dudley laughed and nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"But don't you loose thirty points when your cards explode?"

Harry and Dudley looked up to see Neville standing on the other side of the garden fence. There was a shiny black car parked behind him. Harry could see a man helping an elderly woman out of the back. Her hat had a stuffed vulture on it.

Harry and Dudley put the cards away, grabbed their cups, and went over to greet Neville and his grandmother.

"How's your summer been so far, Neville?" Harry asked in greeting, opening the gate for them.

"It's been nice," Neville said. "Harry, Dudley, this is my Gran, Augusta Longbottom. Gran, this is Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley."

Mrs. Longbottom had reached the group by this point, and offered her hand to both boys. "Neville has told me much about both of you," she informed them grandly. "It is an honour."

"It's an honour to meet you too, ma'am," Dudley said in his best 'polite to guests' voice. "Would you like to come inside?"

"I'm afraid not, we have much to be getting along with," she said graciously. "But thank you for the kind offer, my boy."

She offered her hand one last time and turned around to head back to the car. Neville smiled at Dudley and Harry and shrugged.

"I guess I'll see you at school, Dudley," he said, shaking Dudley's hand and following his grandmother back to the car.

"See you in a week or so, Dudley," Harry said, waving as he followed Neville. "I'll send you a letter."

Dudley waved back as Harry followed Neville to the car. The man, who Harry assumed was the driver, held the door for them and closed it behind them.

"We're just driving to London," Neville explained as they settled in and the car began to move down the street. Neville's grandmother pulled out the Daily Prophet and began reading. "We'll floo from there."

Harry nodded. Neville reached into his pocket and pulled out an Exploding Snap pack.

"Want to play for real?" he asked with a grin.

* * *

Neville's house was very…interesting. They didn't spend much time indoors, as Neville seemed most comfortable in the vast greenhouses that, as he told Harry, his portion of the basilisk had paid for.

"Gran was so proud when I told her what we did last year," he explained as they wandered through Greenhouse Six one day. "She got the best deals for all of it and I got to buy this before she put the rest of the money in my trust fund. I've also started building a hedge maze, come see!"

They left the greenhouse, Harry narrowly avoiding a bite from something that Neville called a 'baby tentacula', and headed across the grounds to an area of knee high hedges.

"Gran said that if I take care of them while I'm here and get it started, she'll hire some people to keep it up while I'm at school," Neville explained excitedly. Harry grinned as his friend hopped over several hedges toward a part that had gotten up and was trying to wander away. "This is a bit of Wandering Shubbery," Neville explained, soothing the bush. "The trick is to train them to move only when no one is looking, so as to confuse someone inside the maze."

"Wicked," Harry said. Something was slithering near his feet, and as he looked down, a vine curled around his ankle in a friendly sort of way. "Nev, there's a vine on my foot."

"Oh, that's just the Devil's Snare saying hello," Neville said, coming over to investigate. "The plan was that it would capture you and then you'd be stuck in the maze, but so far it doesn't seem to want to be especially fierce. I'm going to read up on them next week and figure out how to make it a bit less friendly toward strangers."

The Snare curled it's way up Harry's leg, eventually ending up wrapped gently around one of his arms. Another vine wrapped around his back and Harry wondered bemusedly if this was what being hugged by a plant was like. His snake stuck her head out of his sleeve to see what was going on, and when she caught sight of the vines holding Harry, she hissed angrily.

"_Should I bite it for you?_"

"_Please don't,_" Harry replied. "_It's friendly, and anyway, it's a plant._"

"_I eat plants sometimes, you know,_" she hissed, looking down at the Snare in what Harry thought was meant to be a threatening manner. _"It's not always mice and grasshoppers. Tell it that._"

"_You eat the feathers off of my quills sometimes,_" Harry hissed wryly. "_I think we both know you're not exactly picky. And I don't speak Plant, anyway._"

* * *

That night at dinner, after Neville had finished explaining how he was going to get some Whomping Willow seedlings from Professor Sprout after break ended, Neville's grandmother struck up a conversation with Harry. Harry had already learned why Neville had been so shy back in first year. Mrs. Longbottom was a very foreboding and exacting woman, who felt that tact was for younger, less esteemed people.

"I wonder, Mr. Potter, are you at all alarmed about Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban?"

Harry blinked.

"What?"

"Sirius Black, boy," she repeated. "What is your opinion on his escape, given your history with him?"

Neville looked between the two of them worriedly and interrupted. "Gran, Harry's been with muggles all summer, he wouldn't be getting any wizarding newspapers."

"Nonsense, Neville," Mrs. Longbottom said dismissively. "The muggles are aware of his escape as well. The Daily Prophet had said that it is in their news. The name is recognisable enough."

Harry still felt confused. "He's escaped from Azkaban?" he asked confusedly. Neville nodded.

"We still have that paper, if you want to look at it, Harry," Neville suggested. Harry nodded, and they both excused themselves from the table to go find it.

Neville led him into the library and began looking through a stack of old papers on a shelf.

"Gran saves the important headlines," he explained. "She says they bring back the really interesting memories."

He found the paper he was looking for on the end and handed it to Harry.

'**SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN**' the headline screamed. Harry read though it twice. His parent's once best friend, turned spy for Voldemort, turned insane Azkaban escapee. The article said he was the first person to ever break out. Harry wondered how he'd escaped.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Neville asked uncertainly. Harry sighed and rested his forehead on his palm.

"I don't know," he said, starting to feel a bit angry. "I mean, I'm upset, yes. I remember reading about him in some book first year. He betrayed my parents, didn't he?"

"Well, no one's really sure what happened, but it certainly seems like it," Neville said uncertainly. "The papers say he killed Peter Pettigrew, and he was one of your parent's friends as well. All they found was a finger."

Harry thumped the table he was sitting at in frustration. His snake came slithering out of his sleeve to see what was going on.

"_Are you alright, Harry?_" she asked curiously.

"_The person who killed my parents escaped from prison,_" Harry hissed in explanation.

"_If this person hurt you, I'll bite them for you,_" she promised, slithering in angry circles on the table. Neville watched curiously, sitting down across from them.

"_He didn't hurt me, he hurt my parents,_"Harry hissed, then frowned. "_Well, he let someone hurt them, and he killed one of their other friends too. And a lot of other people._"

She stopped slithering and rose up on her end curiously. "_Why was he in charge of them? Were they very small?_"

Harry grimaced. "_No, he was supposed to…well…he did…it was his fault…_"

Harry stopped hissing and thought about it. He really had no idea what had happened. The newspaper and all the books had said was that it had been Black's fault, and that he had killed Peter, and then he had been put in Azkaban. There had never been any details.

He would just have to find out what had happened for himself, then.

* * *


	23. The Train

When Harry arrived back at Privet Drive, Aunt Marge was thankfully long gone. Harry and Dudley spent the next few weeks corresponding with their friends and doing homework whenever one of Hermione's letters arrived and made them feel guilty, but otherwise they did very little until their booklists arrived and it was time to go to Diagon Alley.

Harry was hoping that he would be able to find out more about Sirius Black once he was back in the wizarding world. He had ordered a subscription from the Daily Prophet, but the newspaper told him nothing that he hadn't already found out at Neville's house. In fact, he found out more from Neville than the paper revealed, including that one of Sirius Black's cousins was the reason why Neville lived with his Gran. Apparently the whole family was bad, not just Black himself.

It had happened not long after Harry's own parents had been murdered. Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, had hurt Neville's parents so badly that they were still in the hospital, and, as Neville said, barely recognised him. He had even shown Harry his boxful of bubblegum wrappers, and explained that his mother gave him one every time he visited, and it was because of this that he still thought that she might know him, 'No matter what Gran says'. Harry had never realised how much he and Neville had in common, and they had begun writing back and forth regularly.

The trip to Diagon Alley turned out to be just Harry and the all Gryffindors. Blaise, Draco and Anthony had already done all their school shopping before Harry's owl reached them, and Pansy was apparently making a day of it with her mother. Ron would be arriving back from his trip to Egypt at the same time that Hermione was getting home from France, and they planned it so that Harry and Dudley would be dropped off by Uncle Vernon at the Leaky Cauldron and Ron's family would take them all to Kings Cross the next day. Neville had decided to put off going to Diagon Alley as well, in order to come with them, although he wouldn't be staying the night.

Harry and Dudley met Ron and a few of his siblings in the Leaky Cauldron as planned, and they were all extremely freckly, which was no surprise. Hermione and Neville were already there as well, Hermione looking very brown and Neville looking as he had when Harry had last seen him.

"How was everyone's summer?" Harry asked as they walked down the alley, and received a chorus of responses from everyone. It all sounded very positive and exciting. Hermione had apparently done some astoundingly academic things in France, and Ron had sold some of his portion of the basilisk in Egypt and what little his parents hadn't forced him to put in a trust fund was now clinking merrily in his pockets as they did their shopping.

Fred and George, Ron's twin brothers, had joined them, along with their little sister, Ginny. She was as loud as her brothers, it seemed, and seemed to be trying to convince Ron to buy her something. Fred and George walked next to Harry, and from what he knew about them, he felt it prudent to be slightly worried.

He shifted closer to Hermione.

"What classes are you taking this term?" he asked her, eyeing the three stuffed bags she had picked up at the bookstore.

Hermione brightened. "Oh, the usual, you know, Charms, Potions, Defense, Herbology, Transfiguration…then I'm also taking Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes -"

"Hey, me too," Harry grinned.

Hermione smiled at him and continued. "Arithmancy?"

Harry shook his head. "Draco and Blaise are taking that, I think. Anthony too."

"Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Yup."

"Divination?"

"Dudley and I are in Divination," Ron cut in, Dudley nodding next to him. "Magical Creatures, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically, but with the slightest of smiles. Harry laughed at her.

"I'm not that bad!" Ron said indignantly.

"Of course you're not," Ginny cut in. "In fact, you're my favourite big brother, you know."

"I'm not buying you a broomstick, Ginny," Ron said immediately. "I'm going to buy myself a new wand. Then I'm going to buy myself some robes, and everything else. And then, if I have enough money left…"

Ginny brightened and smiled winsomely.

"I'll buy _myself_ a broomstick." Her smile turned into a pout, and she turned up her nose at him.

"Fine then, Fred and George are my favourite brother," she proclaimed, flouncing over to walk with them instead.

They laughed and slung their arms around her as one.

"That's right, Gin," one of them said with a grin at Ron.

"The girl knows what's what," said the other. "When we're rich and famous, we'll buy her ten broomsticks!"

Ginny grinned and stuck her tongue out at Ron, who made a harrumphing noise and ignored her in favour of Neville and Dudley instead, who had begun a discussion on Quidditch.

"The Kestrels don't have a chance this year, are you crazy?"

Harry turned back to Hermione, who was looking through her own money bag now, and looking up at the stores contemplatively.

"My parents gave me some birthday money," she informed Harry. "I think I might get an owl, but I haven't decided yet…"

"The Menagerie is just over there." One of the twins pointed out a shop up ahead, the Magical Menagerie. "Ron has to get his fleabag rat checked out too, take him with you."

"Mum wants it to'run away', if you know what I mean," the other said with a wink. "We were thinking of taking it off his hands for her, but he practically sleeps with the thing."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the idea and called Ron over to go into the shop. Harry followed the rest of the group over to Fortescues to get some ice cream while they waited.

"What do you have left to get?" Dudley asked Neville as they all sat down in a booth with their cones. Ginny sat down next to the three of them and squealed when one of the twins playfully flicked some of his ice cream at her.

"I already got most of my stuff, including a new wand," Neville said, pulling it out and proudly showing Dudley and Harry. "Cherry and unicorn hair, eleven inches."

"Nice," Harry said, admiring the new wand. "What classes are you taking then?"

"Care of Magical Creatures," Neville said. "Divination, don't know how Ron convinced me, and Gran spent the summer telling me what a 'wooly discipline' it is, but -"

Neville was interrupted by a commotion from the direction of the Magical Menagerie.

"Scabbers!" Ron came dashing out of the shop and threw himself down in front of a dustbin, apparently trying to coax his rat out.

Hermione emerged from the shop several minutes later, holding a large ginger cat and beaming.

* * *

"I still cannot believe she bought that monster," Ron grumbled for possibly the hundredth time the next day, sitting on the train and staring grudgingly at Hermione and cat curled up on her lap. Dudley sat with him, also eying them warily. Both of them had been pretty badly scratched up during the trip to Kings Cross that morning.

Harry sat between Neville and Pansy, who had found them before the train left and was, along with Hermione, engaged in playing with Hermione's cat and ignoring Ron. Blaise and Draco had found them an hour or so into the train ride and were now engaged in a game of chess, and were also ignoring Ron. The ride had been peaceful so far with the heavy rain hammering down on the windows, and it was getting dark when a there was a loud crash at the compartment door.

"What was that?" Neville asked, looking up from the book he'd been reading. Harry got up to look out into the hall curiously. Crabbe and Goyle were down the hall a ways, bumping into doors and walls as they ran, chortling.

"Draco's bodyguards," Harry said, and Draco rolled his eyes as he ordered his bishop to kill Blaise's knight.

"They're not my bodyguards," he said over the screams of the chess pieces. "I talked to them toward the end of the year and we agreed that they both have better things to do than follow me around."

"Really?" Blaise asked. "I don't remember that. What about your father?"

"They're going to make it up," Draco explained. "And they're going to tell me what they tell their fathers so I can have the same story. And then we go our separate ways, they're happy, Father is happy, everyone's happy."

The train was starting to slow down now. "We're nowhere near Hogwarts yet," Hermione said, checking her watch with a frown. "Why are we stopping?" Ron got up to look out in the corridor, as he was nearest to the door.

The train came to a sudden, jolting stop and, just as suddenly, the lights went out. Draco and Blaise's chess game ended up all over the floor, much to the pieces' rather vocal displeasure, and Ron jumped back just as the door slammed shut where his head had been.

"What's going on?" Pansy asked, sounding worried.

"There are people boarding the train," Neville said suddenly, looking out the window. "I-"

The door to the compartment slid open. "Ron?"

It was Ginny. "Over here," Ron replied. "Ow! My foot!"

"Sorry..."

"I'm going to go ask the driver what's going on," Hermione said.

"I want to know why it's so cold," Pansy said, wrapping her arms around herself.

Harry watched as Hermione's silhouette made it's way toward the door and suddenly stopped.

"It is rather cold in here," she agreed anxiously. "Is anyone else feeling particularly...uncheerful?"

Harry nodded to himself as the door slid open once again. Hermione stumbled back from the door and fell partly over his feet.

Harry hardly noticed this though, because there was a dark shape in the doorway that was making an awful rattling sound. The cold was intense now. Harry's eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and all there was was terrified screaming and a white fog.

* * *

"Harry! Harry wake up! Are you alright?"

"Wha...?"

"Are you alright?"

"I...who screamed?"

"What?"

Harry opened his eyes to see Blaise, Pansy and Hermione leaning over him, looking pale and concerned.

"Someone was screaming," Harry explained, sitting up and putting his glasses on when they were handed to him. His face was covered in a cold sweat.

"No one was screaming, Harry," Hermione said, Pansy nodding along. Harry looked around the brightly lit compartment and saw that everyone looked rather shaken up, Neville, Draco and Dudley in particular. He also saw another person that was entirely out of place on the Hogwarts Express, an adult with threadbare clothes and a large bar of chocolate.

"Hello Harry," the man said, breaking a large chunk of candy into pieces. "My name is Professor Lupin. Eat this." He handed Harry a piece of chocolate and passed the rest of it out to everyone else. Harry looked down at it and back up at the professor.

"Eat it," he repeated. "It'll help."

"What was that?" Harry asked, although he had a feeling he knew because of Hermione's comment from before.

"A dementor," Lupin said, confirming Harry's suspicions. "One of the dementors of Azkaban." He looked around at the group again and gave a reassuring smile. "Eat the chocolate. Now, I need to speak to the conductor, excuse me."

Harry waited until the professor left before asking, "What the bloody hell just happened? Where did he come from? What happened before?"

"He was in the compartment next to us," Blaise explained. "I saw him earlier when I was looking for you lot."

"We think he's the new Defense teacher," Pansy added. "It would make sense, with Lockhart gone. He looks pretty shabby, but he scared the dementor away awfully quickly."

"But what happened?" Harry asked, wiping some sweat off his face and climbing back up onto the seat. Everyone else looked at him in concern for a moment. "What?"

Hermione attempted to explain. "Well the dementor kind of stood there and looked around... I mean, I think it did... and you..."

"You fell off your chair and started twitching," Dudley explained, still looking rather scared. "Thought you were having a fit or something."

"Neville and Draco weren't all that much better. Shaking like mad, the both of them," Blaise said, putting a comforting arm around Draco's shoulders. He was still deathly pale, staring down at his feet, huddled in on himself.

"Did anyone else...pass out though?" Harry asked, feeling embarrassed at the negative response from Pansy and Blaise.

"I felt strange, though, like I'd never be cheerful again," Ron said uncomfortably, his sister nodding emphatically next to him.

Neville was sitting by the window, watching the scenery go by with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Harry suddenly remembered a part Hermione's explanation of dementors in first year. He knew Neville had some pretty horrible memories he might have been relieving, and moved closer, putting a hand on Neville's shoulder. Neville gave him a small smile and relaxed slightly.

No one said very much until the train came to a stop at Hogsmede station, eating their chocolate quietly. It made Harry feel surprisingly better.

Harry missed the Sorting, having been summoned by Professor Snape when he reached the entrance hall.

"An owl was sent ahead by Professor Lupin saying you were taken ill on the train," Professor Snape explained, sneering Lupin's name. They were nearing the hospital wing, and Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment and no small amount of curiosity about what Snape had against the new professor.

"I'm fine, sir."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, Madam Pomfrey would like to see you." It wasn't sneered this time, but Professor Snape's tone was final.

Harry sighed in resignation, face still a bit red. He wasn't about to argue with Snape.

* * *

"Where'd you guys have to go?" Blaise asked when he arrived back in the Great Hall, just in time to miss the Sorting.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "It was just me, Madam Pomfrey wanted to see me."

"Well where'd Hermione go then?" Pansy asked. "She's only just now got back, we thought you were somewhere together."

Harry looked over at the Gryffindor table to see Hermione being questioned as well. He shrugged. "Not a clue."

Up at the head table, Professor Dumbledore was explaining about dementors being posted on the grounds.

"They're going to be here as well?" Blaise exclaimed quietly. "We'll never get anything done with those wretches around."

Harry and Draco nodded vehemently. Draco looked to be feeling much better now and had been since they'd gotten off the train, although Pansy was still keeping a close eye on him and Harry as well now that he was back from the hospital wing.

Dumbledore announced the first of two new teachers for the year, a very tall, very wide man that Harry was pretty sure he'd seen around the grounds before now.

"The gamekeeper is going to be teaching Care of Magical Creatures?" Draco asked with a slight sneer, confirming Harry's suspicions. "This ought to be good."

"Told you he was the new Defense teacher," Pansy whispered as Lupin stood for his lukewarm applause.

Harry clapped for both of them. "Look at Snape," he said, nudging Blaise and Draco. Snape was glaring venomously down the table at Lupin.

"What do you think Lupin did to him?" Pansy wondered.

"He sounded like he already knew Lupin earlier," Harry said, explaining about the walk up to the infirmary.

"He's probably just angry because he didn't get the Defense job again," Draco suggested dismissively. "I mean, he's always wanted it."

The conversation lapsed after that and turned to other things, and soon the feast was over and they were heading back to their dorms.

"So Sirius Black is going to try to break into Hogwarts this year," Blaise observed when they'd reached the common room. "I wonder what he's after."

Harry looked around at his friends and realized they were watching him. "You think he's after me," he stated flatly. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"It only makes sense, Harry," Draco explained, Pansy nodding in agreement. "Why else would they put _dementors_ around the entrances if they didn't think he was coming here? It's fairly obvious."

"Did you see Dumbledore?" Blaise asked them. "He didn't look at all happy. And who else would Black be after?"

Harry frowned. It did make sense, they were right. Black was most likely after him.

"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly. "It's been a long day." His friends stared after him as he headed toward the dormitories.

"He's right." Harry could hear Draco following him. "This day has been far too long."

* * *


	24. The Classes

Harry's first day of classes was as thus: double Potions, followed by lunch, followed by Charms and ending with Care of Magical Creatures.

Potions went fairly well. Snape even complimented Draco and Harry's potion at one point, saying that it was 'well done'. Draco had been ecstatic, and the compliment had gotten Harry out of the bad mood he'd been in since the night before.

Lunch was spent discussing Quidditch. Harry had talked to Dudley after Potions class, and apparently he and Ron were still going to try out for the Gryffindor team. Harry then thought to ask Draco why he didn't try out for Slytherin.

"You're a good flyer, Draco," Harry said after taking a swallow of his juice. "In fact, you're amazing. Why don't you join me on the team?" He held up a triumphant fist with a grin. "Together we can destroy Gryffindor!"

Blaise laughed at him from across the table and Draco grinned reluctantly. "Harry," he explained mock-regretfully, "I would join, but I'd hate to make you lose your place on the team. I'm a Seeker, and I did teach you everything you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

Pansy snickered at Draco. "I remember what you taught him. 'It's in the hips'." Her imitation of Draco was perfect, even if the eyebrow waggling was a bit over exaggerated. "Terribly useful, that."

Draco's indignant look was spoiled by the spots of red on his face. "I did not say it like that!"

Blaise and Harry looked at him knowingly. He glared back in embarrassment. "I didn't!"

"Of course you didn't, dear," Pansy said with a wicked smirk. "Sausage, Blaise?"

Blaise burst into surprised laughter and declined, saying, "Let's go, we're going to be late for Charms."

* * *

Charms passed quickly, Harry, Pansy and Blaise having entertained themselves by embarrassing Draco horribly the entire time, repeating everything Flitwick said in a way that made it sound positively obscene.

"I need _twelve inches_ by Friday," Pansy snickered as they left the classroom.

"Stop _saying_ it like that!" Draco exclaimed, scandalized. "Anything will sound depraved if you say it like _that_!"

By the time they reached the group of students surrounding the gamekeeper's hut, Draco's blush had subsided and Harry had gone back to trying to convince him to join the Quidditch team. He only paused in his attempt when the giant gamekeeper, Professor Hagrid as he had identified himself, appeared and explained to them how exactly they were supposed to open the monstrous books he'd had them buy. Harry hadn't touched his since he'd bought it in Diagon Alley, unwilling to take it out of the carefully tied bag that the shopkeeper had given him.

Hagrid led them around the edge of the forest to an enclosure filled with strange creatures he identified as hippogriffs, and Harry took a moment to take in the half horse, half bird before he started in on Draco again.

"One of the old Chasers finally graduated, Draco, you wouldn't be a reserve," he whispered as Hagrid went on about the creatures.

"...easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't ever insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do..."

"Come on, you really should try out," Harry continued prodding. Draco looked near breaking at this point.

"Any volunteers?" Hagrid was asking hopefully, surveying the group. Dudley, who had been in front of the Slytherins next to Hermione and the other Gryffindors, backed up so far he bumped into Harry, who stopped talking at this point, worried that he might accidentally volunteer himself. Draco glanced at him, then the hippogriffs, then back. A slow smirk spread across his face.

"Fine," Draco finally agreed in a low whisper, to Harry's delight. "But! Only if you'll volunteer."

Harry looked at the hippogriffs, then at Draco, then at Professor Hagrid's hopeful face.

He shrugged. "Yeah, alright. But if I die, Blaise has to avenge me. And you still have to join the Quidditch team."

Draco's mouth dropped open and Blaise nodded solemnly. Harry stepped forward and raised his hand.

"I'll try it," he told Hagrid, who looked positively delighted.

"Good man!" Hagrid roared, causing Harry to falter slightly as he climbed the fence separating student from hippgriff. "Lets see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."

Hagrid separated one of the hippogriffs from the small herd and slipped off the leather collar. Draco, who had pushed his way to the front along with Pansy, Blaise and Hermione, watched in morbid fascination and some worry.

"Easy, now, Mister Potter," Hagrid said, much more quietly, as Harry approached Buckbeak slowly. "Keep eye contact, and try not ter blink...Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much..."

Harry kept eye contact, although he nearly broke it when Hagrid told him to bow. Expose the back of his neck to those talons? Was he serious? Harry took a deep breath and, maintaining eye contact and refusing to blink, gave a short bow.

The hippogriff considered him for several tense moments before sinking, to Harry's surprise, into an unmistakable bow.

* * *

"Fine, I'll try out for the bloody Quidditch team," Draco agreed, although the expression on his face was far too amused for Harry's liking. He was taking a break, and Draco had approached him at the fence after having abandoned Blaise and Pansy's group.

"After what just happened to me? Even if you don't make the team you're going to be the bloody water boy," Harry said, still slightly disgruntled from his ride on Buckbeak. It had been fun, true, but having the giant professor suddenly seize him and toss him on a hippogriff's back before setting the thing flying without so much as a warning was not Harry's idea of a stellar afternoon.

"It was pretty spectacular, wasn't it?" Draco agreed in good humor. "The look on your face when he picked you up!"

Harry's expression remained mildly surly as Draco laughed.

"Why're you over here, anyhow?" Harry finally asked, having had enough of that. Draco sobered a bit.

"They wouldn't let me stay, said I was going to get myself killed or some such nonsense," Draco said, mildly irritated. "Prats, the both of them, Merlin only knows what their problem is. You rode one of those great ugly things, what could be so hard about getting it to bow to you?"

"Maybe you should stay away from them," Harry said, grimly imagining hippogriff rage and the entire paddock soaked in Draco's pure, aristocratic blood.

Draco huffed and leaned against the fence next to Harry.

"Mister Potter, could yeh give me a hand with this one?"

Harry looked over to where the professor was standing with a smaller hippogriff and waving Harry over. Harry glanced back at Draco, who raised his hands and backed away.

"I don't want to ride any hippogriffs today, thanks," he said, smirking. Harry rolled his eyes and walked over to Hagrid.

Hagrid explained that he wanted Harry to help brush the horse part of the creature, and spent a few minutes showing him how before stepping back and surveying him with a crinkly smile.

"Beau'iful, isn' he? Yeh're good with animals. Jus' like your father."

Harry nearly dropped the brush he was using.

"You knew my father?" he asked incredulously, having forgotten completely about the hippogriff.

"I've bin at Hogwarts fer years an' years," Hagrid explained, taking the brush from Harry and continuing where Harry had left off. "I used ter catch yer father an' his friends sneakin' off ter the forest almos' every other night. Worse 'n those Weasley twins, yer father an' his friends."

Harry nodded, eyes wide. He had pictures of his mother, had his father's cloak, had even seen them in the Mirror of Erised first year, but never had he met someone who had actually _known_ them and was willing to talk about them.

"What was my father like?" Harry asked, throwing caution to the winds in his desire for this knowledge. "What were his friends like? Why were they worse than the Weasley twins? Did you know my mother as well? Do you know-"

Hagrid raised a hand to interrupt him. "Why don't yeh come down fer tea this evenin'?"

Harry barely hesitated. "Alright. Can I bring a friend or two?"

"Yer welcome ter bring anyone yeh like, Harry," Hagrid said jovially. "Now get goin', class is dismissed."

"Thank you very much, Professor," Harry said as he turned to leave, nearly tripping over himself.

Pansy, Blaise and Draco were waiting by the fence. Everyone else had already gone. "What could you possibly have spent so long talking to the gamekeeper about?" Pansy asked as they walked away.

Harry grinned at her. "I'm going to have tea at his house tonight, he knew my parents and he's going to tell me about them, want to come?"

His three friends blinked at him as they digested this information.

"He knew your parents?" Blaise asked, looking surprised at Harry's excited nod. "I suppose it makes sense that he's worked here since they went to school here."

"You're going to have tea with him?" Draco asked, looking distasteful.

Pansy gave Harry's excited expression a glance and raised her eyebrow at the other two. "Yes we are, aren't we, Blaise?"

Blaise nodded. "We are." The two of them stared pointedly at Draco, who raised an eyebrow at them. "Aren't we, Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes elaborately at the castle as they approached. "I suppose," he said. "But if I die from some horrible common disease, Blaise has to avenge my death instead of Harry's."

Blaise nodded agreeably, although he appeared mildly exasperated. "Why do you all think I'd be good for avenging your deaths? Harry alone has made me promise to avenge him at least five times since first year, and I haven't done a thing to encourage it."

"Perhaps he heard those rumors about your mother and assumed she's taught you a thing or two," Pansy said innocently.

Harry had been paying very little attention, having been coming up with a list of questions for Hagrid, but now he cut in. "I don't really know much about your mother aside from what Draco's told me," he shrugged. "I just figured you'd be the best choice, as Pansy would probably have been the one to kill me in the first place, and of course she would probably frame Draco, so you're the only one who would have the time and ability to give proper attention to the avenging process."

"This is true," Blaise said with a contemplative frown.

"We've taught you so well, Harry," Pansy said, smiling mistily. Draco sulked a bit as they finally made their way inside and to the Great Hall for food.

"By the way, Harry, what did Draco tell you about my mother?" Blaise asked curiously.

"Shepard's Pie, Harry!" Draco said loudly, pulling Harry over to the Slytherin table. "It's your favourite, right? Why don't you have some?"

"I-"

"Wow, the house elves have outdone themselves today!" Draco said with a big smile as Blaise eyed him in suspicion. "Blaise, why don't you have some? How about those Tornadoes this year, eh?"

* * *

"I'm going to find out what you said about my mother," Blaise said in an undertone as they sat at the large wooden table in Hagrid's hut later that night. "I can get it out of Harry in under five minutes, you know I can."

Draco winced, in part at Blaise's statement, and in part because he'd just nearly cracked a tooth on one of the rock cakes the gamekeeper had given them. Harry spared them a glance and took a moment from his interrogation of Hagrid to raise an eyebrow at Blaise.

"Five minutes?" he asked, shaking his head. "I'm offended. You'd only get that information out of me if I wanted you to know!"

He turned back to Hagrid, who was eying him with an uncertain sort of amusement.

"It's strange, you bein' a Slytherin," Hagrid said, "Yer parents were both Gryffindor ter the bone. Yer father was always bullyin' the Slytherins."

Harry frowned at this, as did his three friends sitting around him. "Do you think my father would have-"

Hagrid seemed to realized what he'd said and backtracked quickly. "He woulda bin fine with you bein' a Slytherin, Harry, hones'. One o' his bes' friends was from a family full of 'em."

"Really?" Harry asked curiously. "Who was that?"

Hagrid faltered at this, and Harry realised that he must be talking about Sirius Black.

This didn't really reassure Harry.

"Yer father had a load o' friends," Hagrid said evasively. "As a matter o' fact, Lupin was good friends with 'im."

"The new professor?" Pansy asked, surprised, and Hagrid nodded, beaming.

"Right, yer new Defense professor," he said. "An' he knows much more abou' yer father than I could ever tell yeh, Harry."

Harry's head was now spinning at the thought of having already met one of his father's friends and not even having known it. He had to talk to the professor soon, then, and that was all there was to it.

Blaise had pulled his schedule out of his bag and was examining it. "We've got him day after tomorrow," he announced.

"Bugger," Harry said unhappily. He glanced up at Hagrid sheepishly. "I mean, um, golly..."

Hagrid laughed, a big booming sort of laugh that caused all four of them to jump in their seats. "I'll not take points off yeh," he said, his black eyes crinkling in a friendly way. "Yer a good lad. Jus' come round fer tea every once in a while, tha's all. All o' yeh are welcome anytime."

All four of them thanked him, and stayed a bit longer as Harry asked several more questions. Finally Pansy yawned politely and Blaise took the hint.

"Harry, it's getting pretty late," he said. "We've got a load of homework."

Hagrid nodded. "Firs' day o' classes an' all," he agreed. "You lot had better get back up ter the castle before it gets too dark. Come an' visit any time."

Harry looked reluctant, but allowed himself to be led out of the hut and across the lawns to the castle.

"So do you think he took the name literally and actually put rocks in the rock cakes?" Draco asked eventually, rubbing his jaw.

Harry frowned. "I didn't actually try mine."

"That was probably for the best," Draco informed him.

"I didn't like the idea that my father used to bully our house," Harry said, his forehead furrowing slightly. "And the friend with family in Slytherin had to have been Sirius Black."

"His family has all been in Slytherin for a while now," Draco agreed.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked. Draco blinked.

"Well, you know, my family makes a point to know these things," Draco explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Pansy frowned at him, but he paid her no attention. "They were a very prominent family, you know?"

"Alright," Harry said agreeably, letting it drop. "Listen, I'm going to see if Hermione's in the library, any of you want to come?"

Draco shrugged. "Sure," he said. Pansy and Blaise declined, and they separated in the Entrance Hall as Draco and Harry climbed the stairs to the library.

Sure enough, Hermione was there with Neville and Dudley. Ron never came to study groups on the first day, he claimed it was indecent. Harry sat down next to Hermione, who was looking through what looked like an old yearbook. There were a few piled up next to her as well.

"Hi Harry," Dudley said. "Did Hagrid have any good stories about your parents?"

Harry shrugged. "He didn't really know them that well," he said.

"That sucks," Dudley said sympathetically. Harry nodded.

"He told me that Professor Lupin did, though, so I'm going to talk to him after class on Wednesday," Harry continued.

Hermione finally looked up from her book at that. "I thought he might have been friends with them," she said, sorting through the stack of books. "I was looking through the yearbooks anyway, and when you mentioned you were going to talk to Hagrid about your parents, I thought I'd find their year."

She handed him the proper book triumphantly, and Harry opened it to the marked page. "I didn't even know there were yearbooks," he said, scanning the page. "Thanks Hermione."

He found his mother and father in the Gryffindor section, smiling up at him among their friends. Draco sat down next to him and looked over his shoulder.

"Wow, your father does look a lot like you," he commented. Harry smiled. Aside from his eyes, in that they were hazel and without glasses, James Potter did look very much like a seventeen year old version of Harry.

Next to Harry, Hermione was now mumbling to herself and flipping through several yearbooks. Harry ignored her as he looked for names he'd read before. His mother looked like she had in the pictures Harry had of her, only in her school uniform instead of muggle clothes. Peter Pettigrew was there as well, a small, mousey boy with a pointy nose, and Remus Lupin didn't look very different than he had on the train. Perhaps dressed better and with less grey hair, but still generally tired and calm. Sirius Black was actually in Gryffindor with the rest of them, and Harry stared at him for a moment. He had a careless smirk, and was very handsome. Harry went back to examining his parent's pictures, and 'accidentally' covered Black's picture with his thumb, causing him to flail a bit as he tried to escape.

"He's the only one here," Hermione said finally. "He must have been half and half."

"Who are you talking about?" Harry left his thumb on Black's face to mark his page and glanced over at her curiously.

"Tom Riddle," she said. "He's the only Riddle I can find, and that means that either he's a muggleborn or his mother is a witch, and with a name like Marvolo, it was probably the latter. It's likely he was named after someone in his mother's family, but I can't find anything about him aside from his Hogwarts records. He did win an award for services to the school, and he was Head Boy, but that's about it. He graduated back in the forties. I don't know where Dudley can have gotten his diary from, or why it made him do what it did."

Harry shrugged and looked at the yearbook she was looking at. Riddle had been a Slytherin. His gaze was icy and condescending, and made Harry shiver, even if it was just a picture. He didn't like Tom Riddle at all.

"Well he looks a bit like you too, Harry," Draco said, jokingly. "Maybe yearbook pictures just make everyone look alike."

Harry glared at Draco, who promptly shut up and looked over to see what Neville was doing.

"Considering what his diary did, I'd check the records for Azkaban," Harry suggested darkly, glancing down at the picture again. Hermione shrugged.

"I might as well," she said. "It's not as though I've got anywhere else to look. Do you think students even have access to those?"

Harry shook his head. "Not a clue, but it couldn't hurt to ask."


	25. The Conversations

* * *

The morning of their first Defense lesson with Professor Lupin found Harry fidgeting impatiently in Ancient Runes, which was the class right before Defense. He didn't mind Ancient Runes, they had already had the class once before, and since he sat with Hermione and studied with her afterward, he thought he would do fairly well. Today though, he just wanted Professor Babbling to tell them class was over so that he could have lunch before he finally got to go to Defense and talk to Lupin.

After several dirty looks from Hermione, as he kept glancing at his watch and was obviously paying very little attention, class was finally dismissed. They both stood up, and Harry followed Hermione out of the room as she tucked her notes away.

"Harry," she said, still digging through her bag, "Hold these for me, would you?"

She then proceeded to hand him several thick tomes. Harry examined them for a moment. "Do you even have all these classes today?" he asked, shifting the Charms text in order to look at a thick book titled '_Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles'_.

Hermione appeared not to have heard his question. "Here it is," she said, pulling out a few pieces of parchment. These she handed to Harry as well, taking back the books and stuffing them into her bag again. Harry glanced down at the parchment. They appeared to be a couple of copies of the Daily Prophet and some parchment with Hermione's writing all over them. Hermione took them back and they resumed walking down to the Great Hall for lunch.

"What're those for?" Harry asked. Hermione handed him the newspaper, and he looked at it curiously.

Hermione glanced over at the paper. "Oh, that's today's paper, sorry. I meant to give you this one." She handed Harry the other, more yellowed newspaper. "Although you should probably read that as well, there's an article in there about Sirius Black, apparently he's been sighted nearby."

"He has?" Harry asked, flipping it over to look at the front page. Sure enough, there was the familiar picture and a heading proclaiming that a muggle had spotted Black in a town that wasn't very far at all from Hogwarts. Harry frowned as he read through it. It seemed like maybe the dementors were going to have some use, after all.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "I asked about checking Azkaban's records, like you suggested, but Madam Pince told me it'd be much easier just to look into back issues of the Prophet." She gestured to the yellowed newspaper Harry was holding, and he put aside his worries about Black for the moment to look at it instead. "Apparently they always have an article when someone gets sent to Azkaban, no matter who."

"So you found Riddle?" Harry asked, pursuing the small article she pointed out to him. Harry noted that the paper itself was from the twenties. "But you said he went to school here in the forties. This would have been from before he was born."

"I know," Hermione said. "I didn't actually find his name anywhere. I did find someone by the name of Marvolo Gaunt though."

By this time, they had reached the Great Hall. Harry pulled Hermione over to the Slytherin table, intent on continuing this conversation.

"So how do you think they're related, if they even are?" Harry asked, sitting down next to Draco, who nodded a greeting as he ate his sandwich. Harry flapped the parchments at him in greeting before straightening them out and reading the article through. Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt had been arrested for hexing a muggle and attacking Ministry personnel respectively, and Marvolo Gaunt had been sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

"I'm not sure, but here's the really interesting bit," Hermione said, pulling the parchment with her handwriting on it out of the stack in his hands and putting it on the table. "I copied this out of a genealogy from the library."

Harry read through it. She had basically just copied down names. The one at the very bottom made his eyebrows shoot up.

"Salazar Slytherin?" he asked, intrigued. "So they're the descendants of Salazar Slytherin, what does that tell us?"

Draco looked up, suddenly interested. "Who're the descendants of Slytherin?" he asked, looking down at the parchment and skimming down the list. "But what about the Dark Lord?"

Hermione beamed at him.

"What about the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"Exactly," Hermione said, looking rather excited now. "Most of his followers believed that he was the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin."

Draco frowned. "Are you saying he wasn't, then?"

"No, no!" Hermione shook her head. "I'm saying I think he was. Marvolo had a son named Morfin, but he also had a daughter named Merope, look."

Harry glanced down at the list of names and saw that there was in fact a Merope Gaunt on the list.

"So Merope was Riddle's mother?" Harry asked.

"She must have married a muggle," Hermione said, nodding. "Which is why I can't find any wizards by the name of Riddle. And Tom Riddle grew up to be Voldemort."

"But that's impossible," Draco said, frowning at the use of the name. "The Dark Lord is a pureblood, this can't be right."

"Who says he's a pureblood?" Hermione asked challengingly. "If he was a pureblood, he would have no reason to go by a fake name. But if he was named after his muggle father…"

"But you've got no proof," Draco argued. He sounded annoyed. "This is all wild guesswork. You have no idea if this Riddle character is actually Merope Gaunt's child."

"You agree that she's likely Voldemort's mother, though?" Hermione asked. Draco gave her a look for using the name again, but agreed.

"Then I'll keep looking and find some more proof," Hermione said, taking the parchments back and packing them into her bag. "But I really think I'm right about this."

Harry and Draco watched her as she walked back to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Dudley.

"You realize she usually is right about most things, right Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't look at all happy, although he did nod. Harry left him to himself and ate a quick lunch, having moved on from Riddle and now contemplating much more important thoughts about what he would say to Professor Lupin. He decided to just keep his list of questions in mind and otherwise wing it.

Pansy and Blaise arrived after a bit, and Harry sat impatiently through their conversation about the Sirius Black sighting. It wasn't that he wasn't worried, because he was. He was just preoccupied by his upcoming conversation with Lupin, and that tended to take precedence over a mere sighting. Harry responded when he was spoken to, and otherwise kept his eye on the time until finally, his watch showed that class was starting soon.

"Let's go, time for Defense," Harry said, standing up. Draco checked his watch.

"Harry, there's still ten minutes left," he said. Harry bit his lip and gave them all his best doe eyes.

Pansy suppressed a smile and stood up, pulling Blaise with her. Blaise shook his head at Harry, although he looked as amused as Pansy did. Draco sighed and followed as well. Harry beamed.

"Don't think you can do that and get your way all the time," Blaise told him as they left the Hall. "We'll all become immune eventually."

They reached the classroom quickly, but unfortunately it was still empty. Harry picked out a seat in the second row where he would have a good view of the teacher's desk, and sat down. His friends sat around him, looking amused.

Professor Lupin didn't arrive until moments before class was due to start. He looked better than he had on the train; his robes were nicer and he looked much less exhausted. He was levitating a large trunk in front of him. Harry remembered Neville's story about the boggart they had fought for their first class, and eyed the trunk with interest.

It turned out that they were, in fact, going to be fighting the boggart. Professor Lupin explained what to do and asked a few questions before having them line up facing the trunk. Harry followed Pansy and Draco and they ended up toward the end of the line as Professor Lupin gave them a few last minute instructions.

"…think of the thing that scares you the most, and imagine how you might force it to appear comical."

Harry furrowed his brow. What scared him the most? He thought of several things, but nothing really _terrified_ him. Sirius Black? Voldemort? They were distant fears, similar to the idea of falling off of his broom and breaking his neck. He knew it was a distinct possibility, and he knew that one day, something horrible might happen, but at the moment, he was safe. So what scared him the most?

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin asked.

_No,_ Harry thought, panicking slightly. _I don't even know what I'm going up against yet._

It was at this point that Professor Lupin opened the trunk and the practical aspect of the lesson began.

Harry paid close attention to other people's boggarts, hoping for inspiration. The class learned quickly, each observing their respective fear before casting the spell and moving to the side for the next student. There were spiders, vampires, even a rabid dog. The boggart even managed Theo's fear of heights, causing the small area of floor that he was standing on to appear to rush high into the air. Theo closed his eyes for a moment before shouting the spell and causing the boggart to produce fluffy pink clouds that hid the illusion and allowed him to step to the side.

Millicent was next, and her boggart turned into a thin black cloak that rippled menacingly at the class. Pansy said it was a lethifold, but the closest thing Harry had ever seen to such a creature was the dementor on the train. A chill went through him as he pictured the cloaked figure in the doorway, remembered the rotting hand that had protruded from it's cloak, how helpless he had been. In front of him, Millicent considered the lethifold for a moment before raising her wand and casting in a strong voice. The lethifold was attacked by scissors and needles and in moments all that remained was a black pair of pants, which caused most of the class to snicker with laughter. Professor Lupin nodded approvingly, and Harry realized with a slight shudder that he knew what his boggart was going to be. The question now, was how he was going to make it funny…

Pansy and Blaise were next, and Harry was right behind them. He raised his eyebrows when Pansy's boggart turned into a large, mismatched creature with a lion's head and a dragon's tail. Draco whispered that it was a chimaera, and they watched with interest as Pansy shouted the spell and it turned into a goat with scales and a lion's tail.

It was Blaise's turn, and as he was right in front of Harry in line, Harry began casting about desperately in his mind for a way to make a dementor funny. As Blaise stepped forward the goat turned to face him, stumbled, and with several cracks, shrank first into a snake, then a large, angry looking bird, before finally ending up as an overgrown ferret. Harry took a moment to wonder what was so scary about ferrets, and resolved to ask later.

"It's confused," Professor Lupin called. "Finish it, Mr. Zabini."

Harry blinked. Problem solved, apparently. He wouldn't have to face the boggart, although now that he knew he wasn't going to, he kind of wanted the chance.

Blaise raised his wand as the ferret rose up on it's hind legs and began insulting him. He flashed his teeth at the creature as it jabbered on and shouted, "_Riddikulus!_"

The boggart shrank until it was the size of a mouse, and the smaller it got, the squeakier it's voice became until it was just a high pitched squealing. Blaise grinned at it as the class laughed, and watched it explode a second later into a thousand wisps of smoke.

Professor Lupin stepped forward with a smile as the class clapped. "Excellent," he said warmly. "Five points to Slytherin for everyone who tackled the boggart, five points more to Tracy for answering my questions at the beginning of class. An excellent lesson, everyone. Homework, read the chapter on boggarts and summarize it for me, to be turned in on Monday. That will be all."

Harry still felt slightly disappointed that he hadn't been able to have a go at the boggart, but his thoughts quickly returned to speaking with Professor Lupin. Harry waved his friends on as the rest of the Slytherins trailed out of the classroom, still discussing all the different shapes the boggart had taken. Harry waited quietly as Professor Lupin gathered his things. After a moment, Lupin looked up and asked, "Yes, Harry?"

"Er," Harry said uncertainly. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, sir."

Professor Lupin set his things down on the desk and gave Harry his full attention.

Harry shifted in place. "About, er…about my parents," he said quickly. "Hagrid told me you were friends with my father and I just thought that maybe you wouldn't mind telling me a bit about him, if you don't mind, and-"

"Harry," Professor Lupin interrupted. "I would be delighted to talk with you about your father. How about we go into my office instead?"

Harry nodded, and Professor Lupin gathered his things back up and led him through a door in the corner of the room. There were a lot of books and parchments piled on the shelves and desk. Professor Lupin moved a pile of books off of a chair in front of his desk and offered it to Harry apologetically.

"Still putting everything away," he explained, "Although the teapot is all sorted out, if you'd like some."

Harry nodded, and Lupin put the teapot up to boil and sat down across from Harry at the desk.

"Now, do you have any specific questions, Harry?"

Harry did. He thought for a moment about which to ask first.

"Was my father a good person?" he finally asked, knowing that he shouldn't have been so blunt but not really caring. This was something he'd been wondering since Hagrid had mentioned that his father had bullied Harry's house.

Lupin appeared to be mildly surprised at the question. His eyes trailed down to the Slytherin crest on Harry's robes and lingered there a moment before answering.

"Don't let Professor Snape colour your opinion of your father too much, Harry," Lupin said slowly. Harry blinked.

"What do you mean, sir?"

Lupin frowned. "I would have thought Professor Snape would have mentioned this to you?" Harry shook his head. Snape had never mentioned anything about Harry's parents. He hardly spoke to Harry in the first place, although he had become much less standoffish since the basilisk incident.

Professor Lupin raised his eyebrows. "I am impressed at his restraint. Your father and Professor Snape were rather virulent enemies. James resented his ties to the Dark Arts, and especially to Lily as they grew older, and I believe Severus was always rather jealous of your father, bullying notwithstanding."

Harry considered this new information.

"Professor Snape was close with my mother?" Professor Lupin nodded. Harry marveled at the number of people so far at Hogwarts that had known his parents and never let on.

"Lily told me once that they had known each other since before Hogwarts," Lupin said. There was a faraway expression on his face, as though he was trying to remember. "They lived near each other and became friends somehow, I'm not certain of the details. I do know, though, that they virtually stopped talking to each other after an incident with your father in fifth year, when Severus said some things he probably shouldn't have. To be fair, your father had just done something horribly embarrassing to him in front of a crowd of people. He can't have been in the best of moods."

Harry frowned. If he'd had a falling out with Lily and had always hated James, Harry didn't blame Snape for never mentioning them. "So when Hagrid said that my father bullied Slytherins, did he just mean Snape?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Lupin chided gently. "And yes, for the most part, James exclusively focused on Professor Snape, although I will admit he was an equal opportunity prankster in his day. The whole group of us were. We called ourselves the Marauders."

Harry smiled at this bit of information, before a thought occurred to him. "So was Sirius Black a Marauder too?"

Professor Lupin started slightly at the name, as though jolted out of his reminiscing.

"Yes, he was," Lupin said shortly, and Harry knew he had put his foot in his mouth by bringing up what was obviously a sore topic. "It was your father, myself, Peter, and Black."

Harry nodded and decided to leave well enough alone. "Thank you, Professor," he said, setting his now empty teacup down on the desk and standing. Professor Lupin stood as well. "I've got to be going," Harry lied. "Would you mind if I came back sometime? It was nice hearing about my parents. No one has really told me much about them."

Professor Lupin's stony expression softened slightly. "Of course, Harry," he said. "My door is always open."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "Oh, and class was really brilliant today. It was probably the best Defense lesson I've ever had, and I didn't even get to have a go at the boggart. Maybe next time?"

Professor Lupin looked at him oddly for this statement, but nodded. "Next time," he agreed, and Harry left.

* * *

"So what did Lupin tell you?" Blaise asked later, at dinner.

"Nuh uh," Harry said, grinning at him. "First of all, you're going to tell me why your boggart is a big talking ferret."

Blaise colored as Pansy and Draco laughed at Harry's description.

"It wasn't a big talking ferret, you daft git," he said, still somewhat red. "It was a jarvey. There was one that used to sneak onto the grounds when I was little, and my nursery was on the ground floor. It would climb in the window and scream at me until a house elf heard us and shooed it away."

Pansy sniggered as Blaise told his story, and he glared at her.

"You would hate them too if after you finally convinced your mother to move you to the first floor, the jarvey found a way to climb the terrace and hid in your wardrobe!"

Draco outright laughed at this, and Harry wasn't far behind. At the mutinous look on Blaise's face, Harry changed the subject slightly.

"So Pansy, what was yours then?" he asked.

Pansy sniffed. "It was a chimaera, I'll have you know, and I was nearly attacked by one at my uncle's estate when I was eight."

"So," Draco asked again. "What did Lupin say?"

"Apparently Snape was friends with my mum when they were little," Harry said. Astonished expressions appeared all around him and Harry smiled in satisfaction.

"Explain," Draco ordered, and Harry did.

* * *

Late September brought Quidditch tryouts. True to Draco's word, he tried out for and obtained the empty Chaser position. Harry's Gryffindor friends had tryouts as well, and while Dudley managed the reserve Beater position he'd been after along with another boy named Sloper, Ron had been told, as he grumpily informed them at the study group later, that he apparently needed more practice. The thing that really seemed to irk him was that his younger sister, Ginny, had secured the Seeker position.

"Is she actually any good?" Harry asked hopefully. "Because all these crap Seekers you lot have been pulling out in the past couple years have been rather pathetic. I've been hoping for some competition."

"She's better than McLaggen, at least," Dudley informed him, as Ron was still too disgruntled to talk Quidditch. "Better than Dean too. He's in our dorm, he says he'd rather play Chaser anyway, so he's on the reserve team with me."

Now that the Quidditch season had started, Harry was kept incredibly busy, between work and practice and classes and tea with Lupin (although, admittedly, he appeared to be doing better than Hermione, who was positively snappish sometimes). Harry had decided not to approach Snape about his parents, as it was obviously going to be a sore point and he wanted to gain favour with Snape, not lose it. He therefore stuck to visiting his Defense professor, and infrequently, Hagrid. Lupin had asked him during a recent teatime what he thought his boggart was, and had seemed surprised and strangely pleased at Harry's response, saying something about how Harry feared fear, and how wise that was. Harry did not correct him, although he privately thought that he feared the helplessness and the uncertainty that the dementor caused more than the actual fear itself.

Time flew by, and soon enough, Halloween and the first Hogsmede visit of the year arrived. Everyone Harry knew had been looking forward to the visit for ages, and Harry convinced his Gryffindor friends and his Slytherin friends to go in one big group, which he considered quite an accomplishment. Although they all got along fairly decently, especially after the events at the end of last year, they didn't interact socially very often. Despite this, Harry had even convinced Ron to come along with them with only a token complaint.

Hogsmede was fantastic, in Harry's opinion. They went to just about every shop on the main street. Hermione had had to drag both Ron and Dudley away from Honeydukes, where Harry saw a greedy look in Dudley's eyes that he hadn't witnessed since before Hogwarts. Zonkos was fantastic too, and Harry thought of his prankster father and his friends as he stocked up on a few more biting teacups than usual.

They even went to visit the Shrieking Shack, and Harry listened contentedly as Draco and Blaise debated which Gryffindor they could convince to go up and knock on the door. Hermione inadvertently created a suitable cover for this conversation by telling them every single thing she had ever read about the 'most haunted house in Britain', although their attempts were eventually thwarted by a suggestion from Neville that they go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink.

At the end of the day, they made their noisy way back to the school and parted ways in the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. Stuffed and drowsy, Harry and his Slytherins eventually trapised up to the dorms, where they fell asleep quickly and stayed that way until a strained looking prefect woke them in the early hours of the morning with bad news.

"I'm to take you all down to the Great Hall," he said as they all stumbled out of their beds, confused. "I'm not certain yet what's going on, but it's urgent. Someone get those two lumps out of bed."

Draco yawned and stumbled over to Greg and Vince, prodding them roughly and eventually rousing them. They all wandered down to the common room where the rest of the house waited, pyjama clad and looking as confused as Harry's dorm was. When everyone finally arrived, they left and followed the prefects down to the Great Hall, where most of the rest of the school had already arrived, loitering in confusion.

"The Gryffindors seem to know what's going on," Pansy noted. "Come on Harry, lets go ask them."

Harry and Pansy split off from the Slytherins and walked toward the gaggle of students surrounding the Gryffindor group. They passed Professor Dumbledore holding a conference with several professors and the Head Girl and Boy. Harry watched as Dumbledore turned to leave, paused, and waved his hand, summoning several hundred purple sleeping bags in a large pile in the middle of the Hall.

"What's happened?" Pansy asked Hermione as they approached. Hermione looked rather pale and tired, but she waved a worried hand toward Ron and answered.

"Sirius Black attacked Gryffindor Tower," she said. "Ron said Black had a knife and that he ripped his bed curtains."

"He attacked Ron?" Pansy asked incredulously, as Harry looked over at Ron, equally shocked. "What in Merlin's name does Sirius Black want with a _Weasley_?"

Hermione just shook her head, just as baffled as Harry and Pansy were.

* * *


	26. The Insomnia

* * *

"And I woke up, 'cause there was a breeze, right? And he's standing there over my bed, staring down at me with this knife, and I yelled, and he just _scampered._"

When Ron finished his story, Harry frowned. He wasn't the only one.

"How could he have gotten in, though?" Blaise asked. After Hermione had told them what she knew, she had gathered Neville and Dudley and Harry had found Draco and Blaise, and they all grabbed a sleeping bag and formed a circle in a corner of the hall to listen to Ron's story. Harry thought Blaise had a good point, but there was a more pressing concern at hand.

"Why would he attack you, Ron?" he asked, and Ron shrugged his shoulders, clearly mystified.

"I haven't a bloody clue," Ron said. "Why did he run away? He could have finished me and moved on to the next bed."

"The lights are going out now," Ron's brother yelled importantly. "No more talking! Everyone in their sleeping bags!"

"How could he have gotten in?" Neville asked as he settled into his sleeping bag next to Dudley. "I mean, he couldn't have just walked through the front doors. Could he have apparated?"

"You can't apparate inside Hogwarts," Harry whispered at roughly the same time as Hermione, whose head was near his. Next to him, Draco snorted at them and shook his head.

"You would think he would have attacked Slytherin, though," Pansy mused softly, before Draco could comment. "I mean, even the teachers must think Black is after Harry, they've all been keeping such a close eye on you lately, have you noticed?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "They did seem to be wandering the halls a lot more than usual this year," he said dryly. "Yes, Pansy, I'd noticed."

"So if he's after Harry, why attack Ron?" Dudley asked worriedly. "You don't think he was aiming for me because I'm his cousin, and just got the wrong bed, do you?"

There was a short silence as they all contemplated this, prolonged as Percy prowled past, hissing at people to be quiet and go to sleep.

"I don't think so, Dudley," Hermione said comfortingly. "Although that does raise a few issues. I mean, he's only just escaped from Azkaban. How much does he know? Does he even know you have a cousin, Harry?"

Harry shook his head slowly. He had no clue what Black knew.

"Even if he did know I had a cousin, Dudley's a muggleborn," Harry said. "He couldn't have known he'd be at Hogwarts with me, let alone that he's a Gryffindor, unless he heard it somewhere, and how could he have learned that?"

"Well if you're going to say that, how could he know you're in Slytherin?" Blaise wondered.

"Your parents were in Gryffindor, weren't they? Maybe he just assumed you would be too?"

"Maybe Azkaban's addled his brains," Ron suggested.

"No, I think he has some idea of what he's doing," Hermione disagreed. "How could he have broken out of Azkaban, let alone broken into Hogwarts, _and_ Gryffindor Tower, if he's completely insane?"

"She's right," Blaise said, and Harry could tell he was smirking, even though he couldn't see him. "Even I can't break into Gryffindor, and I'm certainly not mad."

"He used to be a Gryffindor, though," Harry pointed out, ignoring Draco, who was explaining to Blaise that there was nothing exciting about Gryffindor that Draco couldn't replicate with a lumos in the eye. "Maybe he just went there because he knew where it was. And maybe he knows about a secret entrance or something?"

They lay silently again and contemplated everything. There were so many questions that needed answering. Harry hated the uncertainty of it. If Black was after him, why not attack Slytherin? And if he had assumed Harry was a Gryffindor, there were still questions. What if Black figured out which House Harry was in? He'd broken in once, he could get in again.

"Harry," someone hissed nearby. Harry looked past Dudley on his right to see Anthony sliding along the ground toward them, still in his sleeping bag. He looked a bit like a purple slug. A blond girl followed him closely, creeping along in the same manner. They both paused when the Head Girl glanced their way, then continued.

"Hi, Anthony," Harry called softly, and he could see Draco shaking his head in bemusement out of the corner of his eye. Dudley scooted his sleeping bag out of the way, making room for the two new arrivals and greatly increasing the diameter of their little circle.

"Hello, Harry," Anthony whispered as he settled in next to him. "I meant to talk to you earlier about this, but Luna found me."

Harry glanced past Anthony to see the girl gazing at him with protuberant eyes.

"She was Petrified last year; I'm tutoring her so she doesn't fall behind too badly," he explained with a shrug.

"Hello, Harry Potter," she whispered. "It's very lovely to meet you."

Harry blinked. "Nice to meet you too, Luna."

She smiled vaguely and her head disappeared past Anthony's sleeping bag.

"Hello." He could just barely hear her still. "Your name is Dudley Dursley."

"Er, yeah," Dudley said, nonplussed. "Yours is Luna?"

"Luna Lovegood, actually, but thank you. You were closer than most."

"So what did you want to tell me?" Harry asked, turning his attention away from the new girl and leaning closer to Anthony so that they could talk quietly.

"Well, I had wanted to talk to you about the snakes."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He fell silent as a ghost floated past.

"Goodnight, Friar," Luna said.

"Goodnight, Luna, dear," the ghost said, and floated on its way. Neville snored.

Anthony continued. "I was thinking, we should have them meet each other. Mine and yours, you know? I brought Douglas with me this year so that I'd be able to practice without you at school as well, and -"

"You named your snake Douglas?" Harry interrupted, amused.

"We had a lengthy discussion, and concluded that Douglas was best," Anthony informed him. "He was quite adamant about it, though he also quite liked Liegia, no matter that I said it was a girl's name. He spent weeks deciding between the two. But that's beside the point. What do you say?"

"Well sure," Harry said. "I don't see why not. They'll be aware of each other by now, anyway, if you've had him here since September."

"Yes," Anthony agreed thoughtfully. "And I thought we should test that, how far away they can get before they lose awareness of each other. It could be useful."

Harry agreed. "The basilisk could hear me from at least several floors down, remember? They seem to have pretty strong senses."

Anthony nodded thoughtfully. "I thought it could be useful for you. I mean, they can sense more than just snakes from a distance."

It seemed that the rest of the group had been shamelessly eavesdropping on this conversation, because Draco cut in at this point and said, "Do you think they'd be able to keep an eye out for Black then, in case he tried to sneak up on Harry?"

"Figuratively speaking, yes," Anthony responded. "I mean, clearly he has other motives at the moment, aside from attacking Harry, but it couldn't hurt to have a lookout for him that has a more reliable method of detection than mere sight and sound."

"But they need to have some idea of what Black smells like in the first place," Harry said, seeing a flaw in the logic of Anthony's idea, never mind his 'other motives' comment, which Harry would question him about later.

"What about Ron's dorm?" Hermione suggested. "He was definitely in there; the snakes should be able to tell, shouldn't they?"

Ron yawned. "You can let your snakes sniff around in there, but you're holding onto them and you're not letting them roam about in my bed, d'you hear?"

"Well, Black wasn't _in_ your bed, Weasley," Draco said. "So that wouldn't help the snakes anyway. Unless there's a part of that story you forgot to tell us?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco snickered at him, as did most of the rest of the group. They all fell silent after a bit, and laid quietly under the stars. Harry listened to his friends fall asleep, one by one. Draco raised his eyebrow at Harry as Pansy sighed and cuddled up against his arm. Harry couldn't help but wink at him, and he could see that Draco had blushed, even as dark as it was in the Hall. Eventually, they could hear the telltale muttering from Blaise that meant he was dreaming. Once, last year, Harry and Draco had broken the charms on Blaise's curtains and talked him into a dream where he was being chased by owls that wanted to steal his trousers. Harry considered doing something similar tonight, but a glance to his side showed that Draco had fallen asleep already. Harry gazed up at the stars for a while until a quiet voice roused him from the half awake state he had fallen into.

"I don't think you have to worry about Sirius Black," Luna said, propping her chin up on a sleeping Anthony's chest, the better to observe Harry. Harry frowned.

"Everyone says he's trying to kill me," Harry told her. "And from the facts, it's certainly looking that way."

Luna shrugged. "Sometimes the people who make up the facts are wrong," she said simply. "I don't think he's after you at all."

Harry felt intrigued despite himself. "And why not?" he asked. Luna smiled at him.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" This phrase coming from Luna's mouth sounded a lot less superior than when Hermione said it, though in her defense, Hermione usually had the right to sound superior when she found need to use that phrase. "You're Harry Potter. Everyone in the wizarding world knew about it when you were sorted into Slytherin. People still talk about it. And he attacked Gryffindor."

She made a good point, Harry thought as she continued. "And besides, he's just trying to prove his innocence."

"Innocence?" Harry asked, his shock causing him to speak a bit louder than he'd intended. He glanced around guiltily, but none of the patrollers were nearby. He hadn't ever really considered the notion that Black could be innocent. "What do you mean?"

Luna just looked at him, her head tipped slightly to one side.

"Have you ever heard of the Hobgoblins?" she asked finally. Harry considered this a very sudden and unwelcome change of topic.

"No," he said, humoring her rather unwillingly.

"Stubby Boardman was their lead singer, he was quite good. He had an alias, 'Sirius Black'." She paused thoughtfully. "Or maybe Sirius Black was his real name and Stubby Boardman was his stage name. I'm not sure, I'll have to ask daddy. Either way, I don't think he did what they said he did."

Harry stared at her. She didn't look to be pulling his leg, so he nodded a bit. "Alright," he said uncertainly. "Thanks Luna," he said, turning his head back to look at the sky again.

"Goodnight then," she said, and her head disappeared as she lay back down on the other side of Anthony. Harry stared at the stars, feeling more confused than ever. He couldn't help but go over the strange conversation in his mind, and wondered if there was any truth to it at all. He'd have to ask Hermione to look into it. He'd ask Blaise too; Blaise liked music, he would know about Stubby Boardman.

That night, he dreamed that a gaunt Sirius Black in prison garb had discovered that the only way to save yourself from a dementor was to play music until they began to dance, which meant they would do whatever you told them to. In his dream, Black built a guitar out of toothpicks and his own hair, and used it to escape to the tune of one of the latest Weird Sisters songs.

The next morning, Harry woke, disoriented and confused on the floor of the Great Hall, with 'Magic Works' still stuck in his head.

He looked to his side, where Anthony and Luna had slept the night before. Anthony was still there, though Luna was gone.

"That girl was a bit strange," Harry told Anthony. Draco, next to Harry, had overheard.

"Harry, I think this is the first time we've ever agreed about something like this," he said, sounding relieved. "Thank Merlin."

Harry frowned. "I didn't mean that necessarily in a bad way," he said, causing Draco to roll his eyes in exasperation. "Where did Blaise go?"

* * *

"So," Draco said that day after classes were out, at the second to last Quidditch practice before their first game. "My father bought me a new broom in celebration of my new spot on the team." Harry and the rest of the team nodded appreciatively at the Nimbus 2002 that Draco showed them. "He also bought all of you new brooms."

Draco smirked at the dropped jaws that surrounded him. Harry shook his head and took the Nimbus Draco handed him with a grin.

"Really, Draco?" he asked, laughing a bit as the rest of the team crowed over the new broomsticks. "The entire team? Not that we're not grateful or anything…"

Draco flushed the slightest bit. "He was in a generous mood when I told him. My family doesn't do things halfway. Also my mum might have suggested it."

"Well then," Harry said, looking down his nose at the new brooms with mock disdain, "In that case, I'm curious as to where my Firebolt got to, Draco."

Draco looked around conspiratorially, and leaned forward when he was certain no one else was listening. "To be honest, I talked them down from that. Can you imagine what kind of damage Warrington could do to himself if he got hold of a Firebolt? He can barely control his Comet. Bole and Derrick aren't much better."

Harry nodded. Warrington had proved Draco's point at the last practice, when he attempted to throw the Quaffle to Draco and ended up going with it. Flint had pulled Harry aside after that practice and told him to catch the snitch quickly in the match against Gryffindor on Saturday.

Harry examined his new broom critically. It was nice, to be sure, but he liked his old broom just fine. There wasn't really a need for a new broom, but of course, Draco would be hurt if he tried to use his old Nimbus 2001. Harry therefore resigned himself to the extra Wednesday practice Flint decided was necessary to get them each used to their new Nimbus'. Draco grinned at him as they left the changing rooms to try them out, and Harry grinned back.

* * *

"So she said he might be this Stubby Boardman person," Harry explained. Hermione raised an eyebrow, which Harry was certain was an expression she'd stolen from Blaise, as he did it exactly the same way. It normally meant 'Are you kidding me?' when Blaise did it, so Harry took a wild guess at what her immediate reaction was going to be.

"You didn't really believe her, did you?" Hermione asked, shaking her head and going back to her book. Today wasn't a study group day, but of course, Hermione was in the library anyway. Harry assumed these were her quiet days away from Dudley, Neville and Ron. He glanced over at Anthony's table, where Luna sat reading alone, swinging her legs under the table in strange patterns.

"Well I don't know," he said, uncertain again. Luna looked up and waved. Harry waved back tentatively. "She seemed pretty sure of herself, and what do I know about these things? I'd never even heard of the Hobgoblins before, let alone Stubby Boardman."

"Well that's the point right there," she said when he looked back at her. "How many books and newspapers have you read about Black in?"

He shrugged. "Quite a few?"

"Exactly," Hermione said, skimming through her book again. "And not a one of them mentioned Stubby Boardman. It's unlikely they have anything to do with each other, although if you really want me to, I'll look into both of them for you."

Harry sighed. "Would you? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don't want to not pursue something because it sounds like rubbish, and have it be exactly right."

"You're the worst kind of Slytherin," she muttered. Harry's eyebrows went up.

"What was that?" he asked. She looked up from her book with a winsome smile.

"Nothing."

Harry looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Right." He decided to change the subject, and lit upon her stacks of books. "How much homework do you have, anyway?"

There were two stacks of about five books each, and while this was nothing unusual, the spines were facing Harry and he had been able to read them and realize that they were all from different subjects. Hermione squinted at him and turned the books around so that he couldn't see the titles anymore.

"How can you be taking all these classes?" he asked curiously. Hermione, it appeared, was very absorbed in her textbook and was unable to answer. Harry looked at her closely and noticed a slight strain he hadn't really seen before.

He picked up the top book out of one of the piles, which had no library markings on it. He glanced through the pile and realized they were all Hermione's, which said something for the strength of her bag, not to mention her back.

"I forgot you were taking Divination," he commented, flipping through the comparatively short book. The others in her pile looked to be, on average, at least twice the size of this one. "Oooh, palm reading. How're you faring in that class?"

"Fine," Hermione said shortly. Harry paused, having apparently hit a sore spot. He honestly hadn't meant to, and he frowned, wondering what the problem could be.

"Aren't Ron and Neville in that class with you?"

Hermione nodded unwillingly.

"How're they doing at it?"

Hermione frowned severely. "They've taken to making it all up," she said, annoyed. "Why bother taking the class at all, if you're not even going to do all the work?"

Harry felt mildly guilty as she spoke. She clearly had a large workload if she was taking as many classes as he thought she was, and yet here he was, piling more on with this Black/Boardman business.

"Hermione, you don't have to look up that stuff about Stubby Boardman, if you don't want to," Harry offered. "I'll do it if you don't have enough time."

Hermione looked at him in wonder for a moment, and Harry felt even guiltier for having used her as his primary research method.

"No, Harry," she said, shaking her head slowly, eyes still a bit wide. "I have plenty of time, though if you'd really rather that I _turn_ it back over to you, I will."

Harry blinked. He felt as though the entire conversation had suddenly reached new heights that he hadn't been informed of.

"I suppose I have a bit of research to do then," he tried, and Hermione beamed at him.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, sounding incredibly relieved. "It'll be so nice not to have to do this alone. I mean, I know the school year only started two months ago, but it's been adding up, you know? I can't be faulted if you've looked into things yourself, and it'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

Harry nodded at her, smiling, and bid her goodbye. She looked much more cheerful than she had before, and Harry supposed that was what counted, even if he was still clueless. He'd figure out what she was going on about later. Surely research wasn't that great of a burden for her?

* * *


	27. The Match

"_So, what did you mean by 'other motives', Anthony?_" Harry hissed. They were in Ron's dorm; he had let them in before he had to go to bed that night. The snakes had assured Harry and Anthony that the only way they would have a problem identifying Black's scent would be if Ron had covered his bed in dung before taking them upstairs, so they'd been confident, barring any insanity on Ron's part.

"_Other what?_" Anthony asked, and Harry repeated it for him in English.

"_Oh, right. I meant it doesn't seem like he was aiming for you._"

Harry's snake slithered down his wrist and onto Ron's bedpost. Behind them, Ron shuddered.

"This is so creepy," he said. Anthony and Harry ignored him.

"_Give me one good reason why he couldn't have just gotten the wrong dorm,_" Harry argued. "_I mean, he even managed to get the right dorm year._"

"_I don't know what he was doing in here, you're right, but really, Harry, …_Dementors…_ don't just let you escape with all your faculties intact. Most prisoners are drooling idiots after a few years there, and Black spent thirteen in that place. For some reason, he was able to __keep__ his brains enough to escape._"

Harry smiled a bit. "_Dementors,_" he said, then switched to English. "And you have to be careful with some phrases in parseltongue, they don't always translate literally."

Anthony nodded, and Ron groaned a bit.

"Are you honestly giving him language lessons right now?" he asked incredulously. "Have your snakes do their thing already, would you?"

"They're doing it, Ron," Harry said. "We don't really do much. They'll tell us when they're done."

"Fine," Ron said. "I don't think you quite understand how creepy this is, though."

Harry sighed. "Alright. Anthony," he said in English, to make Ron feel better. "What makes you think he needed his faculties to escape?"

Anthony shrugged. "You don't just wander out of Azkaban, Harry. And you don't just wander into Hogwarts when it's surrounded by dementors. For that matter, you don't just make your way up to Gryffindor Tower, figure out the password without arousing suspicion, and find your way into a specific dorm with knife in hand. He had to be careful about how he did this. He had to plan. And he planned to make his way to where he did. He had a purpose, and I think Ron mucked it up by screaming."

Harry stared at Anthony for a moment. "You would have made a good Slytherin," he said in admiration. "Why didn't any of us think of that?"

Anthony smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment from you," he said. "And you were all so stuck on the idea that he was after you, you didn't consider anything else. Also, my aunt bought me a few adventure mystery novels this summer, and I kind of got into it."

Harry laughed at him.

"_We've found an unfamiliar scent,_" Harry's snake said, slithering back up Ron's bedpost until he was level with Harry's face. "_The others were the human boys and the ...creature that lives here._"

"_So you will recognise his scent from now on?_" he asked, and both snakes hissed in confirmation, Douglas having joined Harry's snake on the bedpost.

"Are you done?" Ron asked hopefully. Harry nodded and held his hand out for the snakes to make their way up his arm. "Thank Merlin."

Harry and Anthony were escorted out of Gryffindor Tower by Ron, who was muttering to himself about changing his bed sheets. Harry waved at Dudley and Neville as they passed through the common room, noting that Hermione still hadn't returned from the library.

* * *

"Hey Blaise, do you know who Stubby Boardman is?" Harry asked after he and Anthony had split up and returned to their respective common rooms. Blaise had been sitting peacefully in front of the fire before Harry showed up.

Blaise furrowed his brow thoughtfully. " I think I know that name… he's from some old band that broke up around when we were born, isn't he?"

Harry shrugged. "Luna said he's from the Hobgoblins."

Blaise glanced at Harry, amused. "Harry, you do know that you drive Draco mad, making all these odd friends and coming back to us with the strange things they've filled your head with, right?"

Harry tried to keep himself from smirking, but failed rather horribly. Blaise observed this suspiciously.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" he said. Harry snickered.

"Only sometimes," he replied honestly. "I just enjoy seeing the look on Draco's face. But about Stubby Boardman?"

Blaise shook his head. "I suppose he might have been from the Hobgoblins, that does sound right. Why were you and Luna discussing him?"

Harry bit his lip slightly. "Because she told me that Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman and that he's innocent."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry was reminded forcibly of his conversation with Hermione earlier.

"I know," Harry said, attempting to waylay him before he could say what Harry knew was coming. "But it wouldn't hurt to rule it out, would it? Anthony thinks Black had other motives, too, although I don't think he knows about the Stubby Boardman theory."

Blaise's eyebrow had not gone down. To make matters worse, Draco had just come from the dorm and made his way over to them.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, looking between Blaise's eyebrow and Harry's mild exasperation. Harry unwillingly explained what he had told Blaise already, and Draco sighed at him.

"Harry," he said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry looked down at it, then back up at Draco, who had a very earnest expression on his face. "How do I say this to you, Harry? Ravenclaws are weird. It's quite possible that they're all completely insane. The sooner you understand this, the better off we'll all be."

Harry looked to Blaise for help, but Blaise just shrugged. "This is what you get," he said, then addressed Draco. "I'm tempted to agree, though I'd like to suggest that perhaps Harry just attracts the crazy ones."

Draco scratched his chin thoughtfully, ignoring Harry's expression of indignation. "So what you're saying, is that there might be perfectly normal Ravenclaws out there?"

Blaise shrugged again. "In theory."

"Both of you can shut it," Harry told them, fed up. "Anthony is perfectly sane. I don't really know Luna, so I can't say."

Draco and Blaise exchanged a knowing look. Harry countered these with a rather dark one of his own.

"Back to what I was saying," Harry said pointedly, and after getting their attention back, proceeded to explain Anthony's reasoning about Black's break in.

Surprisingly, Draco appeared to approve. "He makes a good point," he said, nodding. "Though he didn't explain how Black could have possibly kept from going mad all that time."

"Dark magic of some sort?" Blaise suggested sweetly to Draco, who eyed him askance. "Do you know of any spell or curse powerful enough to counter the dementors, Draco?"

Harry looked at Draco curiously, wondering if there really was such a thing.

Draco didn't bat an eye. "Well there's the Patronus," he said. "But you'd need a wand for that, and they confiscate those when you're arrested."

"The Patronus?" Harry asked, very interested. "That could be useful, do you think I could learn it?"

"That's a very difficult spell though, Draco," Blaise continued, meeting Draco's gaze. "Don't you know any that are easier or more effective?"

Harry watched as Draco and Blaise stared each other down, a slight frown on his face.

"The only one I know of is the Patronus," Draco finally said, sounding irritated, and changed the subject abruptly. "How did you and Anthony do in Gryffindor?"

"The snakes got his scent," Harry said, lifting his wrist to indicate the snake sleeping on it. "They'll be looking for it from now on."

"Good," Blaise said, though he was frowning slightly. "How are the Gryffindors?"

"They're fine," Harry told him. "Hermione seems a bit stressed. I think she's taking way too many classes."

"I think you're right," Blaise said, shaking his head. "She practically fell asleep in Arithmancy today."

Harry frowned, and opened his mouth to say that Hermione couldn't have been in Arithmancy today, as Blaise had that class when Harry had Ancient Runes, but Draco spoke first.

"To be fair, though, she only took her little nap after we finished the equations," he said. "Professor Vector doesn't care what you do as long as you've finished."

Harry nodded, thinking. Something was up here. Draco and Blaise went on talking about classes, but Harry stopped listening. How could Hermione have been in two places at once? He believed Draco and Blaise when they said she was in their class; they had no reason to lie about it, and it had been an offhand comment anyway. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with her earlier, and realized that whatever her secret was, she thought he knew.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, feeling incredibly stupid. He resolved to go to the library first thing tomorrow morning and figure out what she had been trying to tell him.

* * *

"A Time Turner," Harry muttered as he walked to Professor Lupin's office for tea. "I can't believe she's got a Time Turner."

After two days of research, during which he had also tried in vain to look up details on Sirius Black (he couldn't even find a mention of Black's trial in the old newspapers, let alone anything linking him to Stubby Boardman), Harry had figured out what Hermione had been trying to tell him. It was the only possible answer, especially with the now rather obvious hints she'd been giving him.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how she'd gotten hold of one. The teachers had to know, he knew that much. He'd talk to her after his meeting with Lupin.

Lupin looked up from his papers and smiled tiredly as Harry walked into his office.

"Help yourself to some tea, Harry, I've just got to finish marking these papers."

Harry nodded and made them both a cup of tea. He set Lupin's down next to the papers, careful not to spill it, seated himself in his usual chair, watching the storm rage outside the window.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Lupin finished the current essay and stacked them to the side.

"Did you have anything in particular you wanted to talk about today, Harry?" he asked, picking up his cooling tea. Harry frowned thoughtfully.

"Not really," he said, pushing aside the urge to ask about Hermione. "How does a Patronus work?"

Lupin looked fairly surprised. "That's a very advanced spell, Harry. Where did you hear about it?"

"Draco and Blaise were talking about ways to get rid of a dementor," Harry explained. "And Draco said that was a spell you could use, though Blaise did say it was hard." Lupin nodded.

"It is a difficult spell," Lupin mused, taking another sip of his tea. "It involves focusing exclusively on a very happy memory, and using it to conjure a protector that will repel the dementor. The Patronus will repel other dark creatures as well, most notably the Lethifold."

Harry thought of Millicent and her boggart when Lupin said that. "What year do you teach it in?" Harry asked. Lupin shook his head.

"It's not on the curriculum, I'm afraid," Lupin said, to Harry's disappointment. "Though it is an incredibly useful spell, and probably should be. Maybe I should talk to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded and sipped his tea, before moving on to the one topic that always came up during their chats.

"Could you tell me another story about my dad?" he asked. Lupin smiled and thought for a moment.

"I suppose I could tell you about our Map," Lupin said, and Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly. "We all four were incredibly curious, and by sixth year we were certain that we had discovered most of Hogwarts. We decided that we couldn't possibly let all that knowledge go to waste, and so created a Map of the school. Can you guess what we called it?"

Harry grinned and hazarded a guess. "Marauder's Map, by any chance?" Lupin nodded, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a bar of chocolate. He offered a piece to Harry, who declined.

"Precisely, Harry," he said, breaking off a rather large piece for himself. "It took quite a lot of research, which was done mostly by Peter and I, as your father was better at the spellwork itself. Also, he never really developed the habit of studying, being naturally talented in most of his classes."

Harry nodded along with the story. He had noticed that Professor Lupin never really mentioned Sirius Black, and from what little Lupin _had_ said, Harry was able to conclude that his father and Black were incredibly close, and that it was likely that whatever James had done in the story, Black had probably been doing as well. It had been a very interesting and slightly unsettling thing to learn, that his father had been betrayed by someone so close to him.

Lupin explained the Map in some detail, pausing every now and again for a bit of chocolate. He seemed quite proud of the Map. Harry could see why, because from what Lupin said, it was a very impressive invention. Every room in the castle was on it, including every secret passage and trick staircase. The Map adapted to changes in Hogwarts, so much so that passwords were provided to every part of the castle aside from teacher's rooms and the House areas. The most impressive part, though, as far as Harry was concerned, had to be that every person on Hogwarts grounds was tracked and labelled by name.

"James and I tested it thoroughly," Lupin reminisced. "We made every attempt to make it infallible. Nothing can hide you from someone looking at that Map. Not any spell or potion. Not even an Invisibility Cloak."

Harry smiled inwardly. Lupin had mentioned his cloak before, and seemed to be aware that Harry must have it, though he had never said so directly.

"Whatever happened to it?" Harry asked curiously. If Lupin had the Map, Harry could imagine that it made patrols incredibly easy.

"It was confiscated in our seventh year," Lupin said regretfully. "Filch caught us unawares and took it away."

Harry's eyes widened. "Filch has it?" he asked, several thoughts flashing through his mind at once as Lupin nodded. Filch had obviously never used it before, the way he complained about escaping students, which meant he probably didn't know what it was. And that meant it might just be laying around his office, which meant that Harry might be able to find it when Filch next invited him for tea.

The possibilities were endless with a map like that...

* * *

"First Quidditch game of the season," Harry commented as he strapped on his Quidditch gear.

"And it looks like hell out there," Draco said. Having already finished with his own gear, he sat next to Harry on the bench, looking as though he would very much like to be fidgeting nervously if not for the fact that he was a proper pureblood and didn't hold with fidgeting.

"We've been practicing," Harry reassured him. "You can fly in this, you'll be fine."

Draco sighed gustily. "Why did my first game have to be in the middle of a hurricane?"

Harry laughed. "You heard Flint," he teased. "It's not a hurricane, just a bit of rain."

Draco rolled his eyes. "A bit of rain that blew Warrington off his broom at practice yesterday. Warrington! How does he expect us to keep hold of our brooms if a giant lump like Warrington can't?"

Harry finished with his gear and handed Draco his glasses. "Warrington was being an idiot and trying to somersault with no hands. I'll never forget the sight of him falling through the air, trying to ride his Beater's bat."

Draco grinned at the memory as he charmed Harry's glasses impervious to water. Flint had pointed out the day before that Harry had to _see_ the snitch to catch it, and so Harry had gone to Hermione, who had been thrilled to help now that she had Harry to confide in about the perils of time-turning.

"Thanks," Harry said as Draco handed the glasses back to him. Finally ready, they joined the rest of the team at the doors that led to the field.

"We're going to win today," Flint said menacingly as they stood in just inside the changing room. The wind roared past and nearly slammed the door shut. He faced the team, glaring fiercely. "We are not going out in this to lose, do you all understand?"

They nodded as one, and marched out of the warm changing rooms into the roaring winds.

Harry was soaked immediately, but his glasses remained clear. He thanked Hermione internally as he mounted his new Nimbus 2001; there was no way he could have played in this storm without her spell.

The second he took off, he knew he had to catch the snitch quickly. He was barely keeping himself from being blown off his broom; yesterday's storm was nothing compared to this. He glanced at the Gryffindor seeker, Ron's little sister, and noted that she had even less control over her broom in this weather than Harry did, because of her smaller size and strength.

Harry flew in careful circles around the field, staring all around for the snitch. Draco seemed to be holding his own, not that Harry could really tell. He was still on his broom at least, and he'd been holding the Quaffle the last time Harry had spotted him.

It was beginning to get dark, and Harry hadn't even spotted the faintest glint of gold. He had flown near the stands at one point and seen that Slytherin was up by fifty, but that didn't matter unless Harry actually managed to finish the game.

He was so focused at this point on finding the snitch and keeping an eye on the other Seeker, that he didn't even notice when the field went dead silent. Even the wind stopped roaring in his ears, and suddenly, there was the snitch, hovering a few feet above the ground, near the Gryffindor goalposts. Harry went into a dive just as the snitch shot off into the middle of the field. He followed it single-mindedly for a moment before realizing that something was horribly wrong. Everything was quiet, and though he'd been cold before, that was nothing compared to the feeling seeping into his bones now. He took his eyes off the snitch, feet away from him, just in time to notice that he was diving straight into a crowd of silent, black robed figures.

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!_"

"_Stand aside, you silly girl..._"

Harry's vision filled with white fog, and a shrill voice laughed at a woman's screams as he was swallowed up by the sea of dementors.

* * *


	28. The Article

Harry cracked his eyes open, then shut them again. He could very vaguely hear whispering around him, but he was a bit too distracted by the searing pain in his entire body to pay it any attention. Everything hurt. It even hurt to think, though the idea that he probably should was starting to nag at him. What could possibly have happened to cause all this _pain_?

"He's awake!" One of the whisperers had decided to speak louder. Harry wished he wouldn't.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"Potter?"

"Harry?"

Harry moaned a little inside. He cracked his eyes open a sliver and looked around. Draco, along with the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, Blaise, Pansy, Hermione, Dudley, and Neville, were all crowded around his bedside, soaked and covered in mud.

"Keep it down," he managed, and closed his eyes again.

"He's fine," Flint pronounced, sounding satisfied. "Of course he is, Potter knows what's important. I don't see the rest of you diving into a crowd of dementors to win us the game. Pathetic."

As Flint spoke, the entire fiasco came flooding back. Harry's eyes snapped open. They were all still watching him, aside from Flint, who was eyeing the rest of the team with disdain.

"Harry!" Hermione squeezed in next to Blaise so she could reach him, and took his arm, holding on just a bit too tightly. "Are you alright?"

"You scared the hell out of us, Harry," Blaise said, slightly ashen, though still grinning. "Amazing catch though."

Harry blinked up at them all. Flint took the opportunity to salute Harry and usher the team out of the hospital wing, still lecturing. Draco and Neville moved over to the now empty side of Harry's bed while Dudley hovered at the foot, and Pansy sat down by Harry's legs and patted his knee.

"Neville, hand Harry his glasses," she instructed, before turning to Harry and beginning to scold him. "Harry, you've got to be more careful. You can't keep going around getting yourself nearly killed every couple days. It's going to give me premature wrinkles."

Harry thanked Neville and put the glasses on. The world swam into focus and he saw that he had vastly underestimated the state his friends were in. Hermione's eyes were red and bloodshot, and Blaise looked incredibly upset; the grin he'd had now looked more like a grimace. Draco, though usually pale, looked whiter than a ghost and as though he was restraining himself from copying Hermione and taking Harry's arm. Dudley's eyes tracked Harry's every movement, and even Pansy's face was a carefully blank mask as she fussed with Harry's bedcovers, smoothing them compulsively.

"What exactly happened?" Harry asked, frowning at them. "Why were there dementors?"

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Pansy smoothed Harry's covers once more, and looked up at him.

"They were hungry," she said. "That's why they were there. I can't imagine they're fed properly here. As a matter of fact, I'd be horrified if they were."

"There was a big crowd of excited people and they flocked to it," Blaise added. "Everyone stopped playing once they realized they were there, but you -"

"You followed the bloody Snitch right into their waiting arms," Draco interrupted heatedly. "You just dove right in and disappeared and it took forever to get to you, even with Dumbledore and all the teachers trying to make the dementors leave."

"They didn't want to leave," Pansy said softly. "They were hungry. You were like a mouse in a snake pit."

Harry stared at them. Hermione spoke up in a shaky voice. "Dumbledore was furious. He ran right out onto the field and shot some silver stuff at them out of his wand, but it only made a few of them leave. There were so many of them. He had to do it a couple times before they all finally left you alone, and by then you were just laying there in the middle of the field. We all thought..."

Pansy squeezed his knee, then smoothed his covers out again. "The broom Draco's father bought you was destroyed," she said vaguely.

Harry stared numbly at his hands above the blankets. He had almost died. His broom had been _destroyed_ in the process of his nearly _dying. _

"I...it's fine, Harry," Draco said, all the tension rushing out of his frame as he dropped down on the other side of Harry's legs. "I'm sure Father wouldn't mind replacing it if you want him to. Your old broom is still good, in the meantime."

"That's alright, Draco," Harry answered faintly. "He doesn't have to buy me a new one."

They all sat quietly for a minute or so, before Madame Pomfrey came bustling over and told them to come back later.

"You're soaked to the bone," she said disapprovingly. "I'll not have you all back here tomorrow with pneumonia because you couldn't change your clothes."

"Can't we just cast drying charms?" Draco asked, not moving from his spot on the bed. Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at him.

"Visiting hours have been over for half an hour," she said severely. "As Mr. Dursley is family, he may stay ten minutes longer. But the rest of you have to leave."

Dudley perked up at this and cast a drying charm on himself. Harry smiled faintly at him, noting that Hermione's tutoring had paid off tenfold. Dudley moved closer to the bed as the rest of their friends said goodbye and left grudgingly.

"I was so scared when the dementors got you," Dudley said quietly. He was still watching Harry closely, face pale. "Neville explained to me about the Dementor's Kiss after Dumbledore finally got you off the field."

"The Dementor's Kiss?" Harry asked, confused. Dudley shuddered slightly.

"That's what they were trying to do to you," he explained, sitting down near Harry's legs. "They have a mouth under the hood, and they kiss you and suck out your soul through your mouth."

Harry suddenly felt very cold and clammy.

"That sounds absolutely awful," he said, horrified. "I'm happy Dumbledore stopped them."

"Me too," Dudley said solemnly. They contemplated the idea for a moment in silence.

"Ron was going to come and visit you too," Dudley unexpectedly. "But he's kind of upset at Hermione right now. He thinks her cat ate his rat. It probably did, but she doesn't think so and they're fighting. He said it was either her cat or your snakes, but he doesn't really think that, I don't think. He's just upset. He's had that rat forever."

Harry nodded absently. Dudley gave him a long, sombre look.

"You look terrible, Harry. Get some sleep." Dudley stood to leave, and looked down at Harry. "I'm going to write Dad and tell him what happened," he said. "You're coming home for Christmas, right? Only he'll want to know."

Harry nodded, and Dudley gave him a strained smile before turning and leaving the Hospital Wing.

* * *

The next morning, Draco, Blaise and Pansy showed up at the infirmary bright and early, Draco carrying a newspaper under his arm, and all three of them bearing various gifts.

"Daphne and Tracy asked me to give you these," Pansy explained, setting the cards and a vase of flowers on the nightstand. "You'll be getting several visitors today, besides."

Blaise agreed and began stacking the armful of sweets he'd brought. "Theo wishes you well, though I think I should taste-test these Chocolate Frogs he gave you for poisons, and probably those Jelly Slugs from Pucey, too. I always thought he was a shady character..."

Harry smiled. He was feeling much better this morning, and it looked like his friends were too. Draco dropped a stack of cards in Harry's lap and opened up the copy of the Prophet he'd been carrying.

"_Boy-Who-Lived Attacked By Dementors!_" he read aloud importantly. Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"I'm in the paper?"

Pansy and Blaise made themselves comfortable in chairs around Harry's bed, but Draco remained standing.

"Of course you are, Harry," Pansy said dismissively. "Now listen, this is important."

Draco glanced at them briefly over the paper, and continued reading. "_Yesterday night, our very own Boy-Who-Lived was attacked by more than fifty dementors while playing Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch Team during the first game of the season_."

"Was it really that many?" Harry asked, aghast. Blaise and Pansy nodded. Draco lowered the paper.

"The Prophet is calling for the removal of the dementors from Hogwarts," he said. Harry gaped at him.

"What?"

"They're saying the school needs better security that won't end you up in St. Mungo's," Pansy explained, sounding slightly amused. "If you gave an interview right now and demanded it, I'm sure they'd be gone in a few days."

"What do you think, Harry?" Blaise asked, already halfway through Harry's Jelly Slugs. "Dementors or no dementors? Is there anything else about Hogwarts that's been annoying you lately?"

Harry blinked several times, processing this strange new development.

"If we get rid of the dementors, though," Harry said thoughtfully, "What's to stop Black from getting inside?"

"He's already gotten inside, Harry," Pansy pointed out. "He's figured out a way past the dementors. They're no longer useful. Let's get rid of them."

Harry frowned. "Do you really think it'd be that easy? One interview?"

Draco smirked and sat down at the foot of Harry's bed. "I think it'd be as easy as rumours that you want them gone. Flat out say it, and you'll never see one again."

Harry's eyebrows went up as he considered this. "I'll think about it."

Pansy shrugged and picked up one of his cards. "This one is from...ooh, Hannah Abbot. This should be good."

Harry wrinkled his brow as she opened the card. "How did you bring cards from other Houses? I thought those were just from Slytherins."

"Bit of a big head, Harry?" Blaise commented, smirking at him. "Do you really think that all those cards could come from just Slytherin? Just for that, no Bertie Botts for you."

Draco rolled his eyes delicately as Blaise nicked more of Harry's sweets. "Blaise, we all know he'll have this many from each House by the end of the weekend."

"This was just the morning rush," Blaise agreed blithely. "Pansy and I have been just outside for a while, keeping a lid on your visitor traffic. Can't have just anyone walk in here with you in the state you're in."

"I'm fine," Harry said, blushing, embarrassed that they would go to all this trouble for him.

Blaise grinned and raised the Bertie Botts box in salute. Pansy and Draco ignored them, now cackling over the get well cards.

"It even rhymes!" Draco gasped. "It wouldn't be nearly so bad if it didn't rhyme!"

Harry rolled his eyes and was laughing at Pansy's exaggerated rendition of the poem when Hermione burst through the doors of the Hospital Wing with Dudley and Neville in tow.

"How are you this morning, Harry?" Neville asked, handing Harry a stack of cards. "These are from a few of the Gryffindors," he explained at Harry's curious look.

"Good morning, Harry," Dudley said, sifting through the pile of candy in his arms to set a package of Cockroach Clusters on the nightstand before settling in with Blaise to eat all of Harry's get well tokens.

"Did the Gryffindors decide Harry needed to work on his assignments?" Blaise asked, indicating the books and parchment Hermione held in her arms. Hermione smirked at him in amusement.

"These are mine," she said, and set them down in Harry's lap.

Harry looked up at her with his eyebrows raised, then down at the books.

"I've got two things to tell you about," she said, a tinge of excitement colouring her voice. "Number one is that I _know_ who Tom Riddle is now." She sifted through the books and picked out one in particular, plus some parchment that looked like the genealogy she'd written out back at the beginning of term, only filled with a lot more writing.

"I had to put off researching it for a while, because schoolwork takes precedence of course, but I looked at it again last night," she explained eagerly, pulling out a quill and a clean sheet of parchment with Riddle's full name written in large, clear letters at the top. "It just seemed odd that he would have pulled a name like Voldemort out of thin air - "

Draco made a sound in the back of his throat. Pansy, Blaise and Neville didn't look happy about her use of Voldemort's name either. Hermione sighed and continued anyway.

"So I thought maybe he didn't," she said, becoming more animated as she explained. "There's a V-O-L in Marvolo, so I thought maybe it was an anagram." As she spoke, she wrote out the words 'Lord Voldemort' on the parchment, and began tracing arrows from Riddle's name to Voldemort's. Harry's eyes widened slightly as each letter found its place. The others were leaning in as well, watching with wary interest. Dudley frowned when she finished the name.

"You've left out three letters," he pointed out, using his sugar quill to indicate them. "M, I and A. Was his first name meant to be Mia or something?"

Pansy's eyebrows shot up past her hairline. She opened her mouth to say something, but Draco beat her to it.

"Mia?" he repeated scornfully. "First of all -"

"Draco, shut up," Blaise interrupted, grinning. "I think Mia is the perfect first name for the Dark Lord. It's very unusual. I think it's dignified, don't you, Harry?"

Blaise's eyes were dancing with amusement, even as Hermione huffed at Dudley and Draco in exasperation.

"No, it's not part of his name," she said. "If you would just _let me finish._.." She drew arrows from the three extra letters to the front of the name, to make the phrase, 'I am Lord Voldemort'.

"You-Know-Who didn't think Mia was very dignified, then," Neville said after a moment. "Though 'I am' isn't much better, is it?"

"If his middle name had been 'Narvolo', he could have been an Ian," Blaise decided. He was clearly enjoying this much more than Pansy and Draco, who were looking a bit sick. "Ian is a pretty dangerous sounding name, don't you think so, Draco? Very eastern European, I think."

Draco looked like he had lockjaw. Hermione looked up at him expectantly, almost challengingly. "Is this proof enough, do you think?"

Harry, along with the rest of the group crowded around his bed, turned their eyes to Draco for his answer. He sat in silence for a moment, the barest of emotions flitting across his face.

"I need to think about this," he said finally. Harry frowned at him. What was so difficult about accepting that Hermione was right? "What was the other thing you had to talk about?"

He noticed Harry looking at him and looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.

Hermione interrupted anything Harry would have said, though, with a shocking revelation. "Sirius Black never had a trial."

She sat back and watched with satisfaction the effect her words had. Harry's head had swung almost involuntarily away from Draco to stare at her, even as he forced his jaw to stay in place and not drop.

"Excuse me?" Neville and Blaise echoed with similar expressions of surprise.

"He never had a trial. There was no mention of his trial anywhere I looked." She leaned forward, eyes bright. "Normally, like with Marvolo Gaunt's arrest, the Daily Prophet mentions somewhere in the article that you can owl the Ministry for a transcript. They're considered public information, you understand, especially the older ones. I owled the Ministry, and I got a response from the Department of Archives and Records saying that they didn't have a copy, and that as far as they knew, their Department had never received one."

"And from this, you decide he never got a trial?" Pansy asked sceptically. "Couldn't it have just gotten lost somewhere on the way?"

Hermione shook her head. "The archivist said she had thought it was strange, and when she looked into it she found out they never gave him a trial in the first place. I got the owl confirming it yesterday, but of course with all the excitement I couldn't bring it up until now."

There was silence for a moment, until Draco broke it.

"Imagine this," he said, a devious smirk beginning to blossom on his features. "'_Harry Potter Demands Removal of Dementors from Hogwarts and Fair Trial for Sirius Black'_ That's the headline."

Pansy's eyes were wide with the possibilities. "Imagine it! If Black is innocent and Harry makes a big deal of it in the papers, he'll probably come back for a trial, and either way this'll all be settled.

"What if he's not innocent, though?" Neville asked. "I mean, would he risk coming back if he knew he'd likely lose?"

"Not if he thinks Harry Potter is on his side," Draco said, eyes gleaming. "He'd be more likely to be declared innocent just because Harry said so, and if he's been paying any attention to the papers, he'll know how the wizarding world reacts to the Boy-Who-Lived. And if he's insane and doesn't think that far ahead, well, at least we'll know what we're dealing with."

He grinned at Harry, who grinned back in spite of himself. Draco made a very good point.

"How about this for a headline," Pansy suggested. "_Boy-Who-Lived Claims Convicted Criminal was Never Convicted_!"

"Ooh, I like that one," Blaise said approvingly. "Good alliteration. How about '_Dementors Attack Boy-Who-Lived Because of Ministry Incompetence'?_"

"You three are shameless," Hermione said, though she looked just as excited as they were. "I'll have to write back to that archivist, maybe she'll be willing to give a quote for the article." Harry laid back in his bed, smiling. It looked like the question of whether he should use his name had been answered, though he found he didn't mind as much as he'd thought he might. The headlines they were coming up with were actually pretty good, if he thought about it, and if it settled this Sirius Black business once and for all, Harry was willing to put himself out there a bit.

"This calls for a celebration," Blaise said, raising a newly opened box of Jelly Slugs. "If Harry feels up to it, of course. It's still a Hogsmeade weekend until eight o'clock tonight. I'm sure we can get you out of here by then."

"How are you going to get this in the paper?" Dudley asked. "You aren't going to write it yourselves, are you?"

Draco shook his head and picked up the newspaper he'd been reading when he first came in. "Of course not. We're going to have an expert do it." He tapped the article about the Dementor attack. "The journalist who wrote this will do nicely. Rita Skeeter."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks muchly to my beta, euripedes, and thanks for all the reviews!_


	29. The Map

"Harry, could you please stay after class?"

Professor Lupin stood next to Harry's desk as the class packed up and left. They had been learning about Hinkypunks that day, and the tank sat in the centre of Lupin's desk next to a copy of the day's newspaper and Lupin's class notes.

"Professor?"

"In my office," Lupin said rather abruptly. Harry bit the inside of his lip and followed. He thought he knew what this might be about.

Lupin fixed them both tea, as was their custom, and Harry perched nervously in his usual chair. Lupin had brought the newspaper with him into his office, and it sat in the middle of the desk.

Calmly, Lupin set Harry's tea cup down in front of him and took his own seat. He pushed the newspaper toward Harry, who opened it to see the familiar headline. "_Boy-Who-Lived Claims Convicted Criminal Was Never Convicted!!_" Rita had decided during their first meeting that this headline had the most merit and had run with it.

"Harry," Lupin said, face impassive. "Could you please explain this?"

"It's true, sir. The Ministry -"

"I read the article, Harry." Lupin's voice was pained now, his gaze intent on Harry. "What did you intend to accomplish with this?"

Harry knew he was on shaky ground. Professor Lupin never mentioned Black. He went out of his way to avoid discussing the man, and now Harry had gone and thrown it in his face.

"Sir, I...what if it's true? What if he's innocent?"

Lupin closed his eyes. "Just because someone didn't get a trial doesn't mean they didn't commit the crime."

"But...it's still not right, is it?"

"I'll ask you again," Lupin said, his voice shaking slightly. "What did you hope to accomplish with this?"

Harry forced himself to not fidget. All his Slytherin motivations seemed heartless when faced with Professor Lupin's obvious distress and anger. "I want this to end, sir," he said softly.

"Innocent or not, if he's given a trial this will end."

"You have forced yourself into the middle of this situation, Harry," Lupin informed him. "What will you do if he is not innocent? If he breaks into Hogwarts again, if Dumbledore removes the Dementors from the grounds as you suggested? If he isn't innocent, your offer of a trial won't mean much to him. He didn't find you last time, but with this article it's like you're waving a flag and handing him directions!"

Harry flinched minutely. "But professor, what if he is innocent?"

Lupin breathed deeply for a minute before answering. "Harry, I have told you many stories about the four of us at Hogwarts, have I not?"

Harry nodded, and when it didn't look like Lupin was going to look up, he said, "Yes, you have."

"More than anyone, I want him to be innocent." Lupin finally met Harry's gaze, and Harry looked away at the pain he saw. "But Harry, you're a Slytherin. One thing I should think you would understand is that trust should never be given where it is not deserved."

* * *

"A toast, to Rita Skeeter," Draco declared, raising his mug of butterbeer. The rest of the group, made up of Harry's Slytherin friends and Hermione, followed suit, though Harry was slightly less enthusiastic than the rest. They were in the kitchens, having all met up directly after the last class of the day to celebrate.

"A toast to Hermione," Blaise said, "For being the sleuth that started it all."

Hermione smiled and nodded her head to all the raised glasses.

"A toast to the Ministry," she said, and when the rest of the group stared at her incredulously, she added, "The Archives Department is useful, anyway."

There was general laughter as everyone clinked their glasses together and drank.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Pansy asked, noticing his troubled expression. Harry nodded and looked down at his mug.

"I talked to Lupin after class today," he admitted. "He's not at all happy with me. He thinks we made a mistake."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed and took a sip of his drink. "He doesn't think this'll make Black leave Hogwarts at all. He thinks it's going to encourage Black to come back here again, and he told me not to get my hopes up that he might be innocent."

The rest of them sat quietly for a moment, stumped. "Doesn't he want Black to have a trial?" Hermione asked finally. "Even if he did it, he deserves a trial."

"I know, I said that," Harry agreed. "But he thinks Black won't bother with a trial unless he's innocent."

"I suppose that makes sense," Pansy admitted. "He might not want to take the risk of being sent back to Azkaban if he knows he did it. I suppose we were just hoping he was Gryffindor enough to do it anyway."

Harry twisted the corner of his mouth upward. "Where _are_ Dudley and Neville?"

Hermione shrugged. "They were trying to convince Ron to come along when I left. He's stopped blaming me for his rat, but he won't admit it. Does Lupin really think Black will think like that?"

"Lupin was best friends with him for years, Hermione," Harry said. "He'd know better than we would, anyway."

"Would the Great Harry Potter like another butterbeer?"

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes and looked down at the house elf standing by the table. "No thank you, Dobby, I'm fine."

Dobby bowed. "Would any of the Great Harry Potter's friends like a butterbeer?"

"Hey, Dobby, remember me?" Draco asked from across the table, exasperated. "You know, your actual master? Why don't you get _me_ another butterbeer?"

Dobby bowed to Harry again and trotted over to Draco. "Would Master Draco like a butterbeer?"

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, Dobby, I would like a butterbeer."

"Draco, you're not half done with the one you've got," Pansy pointed out, smirking. Draco huffed at her.

"That's hardly the point. Harry's stealing my house elf and I won't have it."

"I'm not stealing him!" Harry said, a touch indignant. "I don't need a house elf!"

"Yeah, it's not Potter's fault!"

"He's just got a certain-"

"-animal magnetism."

The door to the kitchens had opened, revealing Neville, Dudley and Ron, plus Ron's twin brothers. It had been the twins that had spoken, grinning.

"Though a house elf isn't really an animal," the one said thoughtfully, as they all pulled up chairs and sat.

"'House elf magnetism'..." The twins contemplated it.

"Doesn't sound quite right," one decided. "Sounds-"

"Perverted, if you ask us," said the other, whom Harry decided to arbitrarily call Fred.

"Hi guys," Neville said, sitting with Dudley next to Harry. Harry greeted them with a smile, ignoring Hermione's slightly scandalized response to the twins.

"Celebrating the article then?" Ron asked, avoiding Hermione's gaze. "Caused a bit of an uproar this morning at breakfast."

"It was rather awe-inspiring," George agreed.

"Most of the post we got looked to be on Harry's side," Blaise said smugly. "It doesn't matter if Black is innocent at this point. People are furious because Harry told them to be. The Ministry is going to have a lot on its plate because of us."

"What about the dementors?" Neville asked. Pansy smirked.

"They'll be gone by the end of the week."

The twins whistled. "Impressive," Fred said.

"That'll be nice," George agreed. "It's difficult to get anything done with those-"

"-_things_ around. We've had to put off several shenanigans-"

"-and more than half of our tomfoolery."

"It's even put a damper on our high-jinks!"

"And you know how much we love those."

"Filch is going crazy wondering when we'll strike next." This was said with immense satisfaction.

"Almost makes it worth it..."

"Speaking of," Harry interrupted, remembering suddenly. "I'm going to have tea with Filch tomorrow."

The twins abruptly stopped talking and stared at him.

"Fraternizing with the enemy are you?" George asked curiously, accepting the butterbeer Dobby offered him.

Harry shrugged. "According to Lupin, he confiscated something that belonged to my father when he went to school here. Filch and I are friendly enough that he'll leave me alone in his office without thinking twice. I think I can get it back."

"What is it?" Everyone was looking at Harry with interest. Apparently he hadn't mentioned the Map to any of his friends yet.

"It's a map of Hogwarts," Harry explained. "Professor Lupin told me about it. He and my dad and a couple of their friends all made it in their sixth year, it shows all the secret passages and everything."

"That sounds useful," Pansy said thoughtfully. "Especially if you ever need to make a quick escape, with Black around and all."

"That's another thing," Harry explained animatedly. "It shows where everyone is in the castle. And according to Lupin, it can see through disguises and Invisibility Cloaks and everything."

There was a clunk as the twins dropped their mugs, spilling liquid all over the table.

They sat for a moment, goggling at Harry as butterbeer dripped off the table and into their laps. Dobby and two other house elves manoeuvred around them anxiously, cleaning it up as Draco jumped out of his seat and complained loudly about the new mess on his robes.

All three elves squealed with surprise when both twins shot up out of their chairs in the same moment and descended upon Harry, grinning widely and trading turns at speaking rapidly.

"Harry, dear boy, good friend-"

"-you never told us!"

"How could you keep something so important-"

"-monumentally important-"

"-from us old boy?"

"You're a son of a Marauder-"

"-A _son of a Marauder_!"

Neville and Blaise, who were sitting next to Harry, were unceremoniously dumped from their seats as Fred and George took their places, scooting closer to Harry and beaming at him.

"Which was your father then?"

Harry smiled a little. "James."

"No, no!" Fred said, exasperated. "Which was he?"

"Moony?"

"Wormtail?"

"Or was he Padfoot or Prongs? Come on Harry!"

Harry blinked. Lupin had mentioned nicknames, but hadn't elaborated much.

"I know that Professor Lupin was Moony," he offered. The twins shot up from their chairs excitedly.

"Professor Lupin was Moony!" crowed one of the twins. They had begun pacing, and as they were wearing identical uniforms, Harry had lost track of his naming convention. He decided that this one was George, and moved on. "That old dog!"

"Trying to scold us for the Goo Incident when he was one of the masterminds behind the Gouda Catastrophe of '77!"

Harry blinked. "He never mentioned that one." Fred glanced at him, grinning.

"Then we'll just have to tell you all about it," he said promptly, taking his pilfered seat again. The other one followed suit and leaned forward, eyes bright.

"It began at lunch one drowsy May afternoon," he began, before Harry interrupted him.

"Wait, how do you know?" Harry asked. The twins grinned.

"Our oldest brother, Bill, went to Hogwarts a couple years after the Marauders," Fred explained. "He went to school with people who went to school with them, and he heard all the stories."

"They were bedtimes stories for us when Bill came home for holidays," George said, grinning. "The Marauders are legendary rulebreakers, after all. Bill thought we'd enjoy them."

Harry smiled as Ron snorted and spoke up. "I remember, you tried to recreate the cheese thing in Mum's kitchen once." He glanced at Harry. "They were in trouble for three months after that. I don't even know how they got hold of Mum's wand in the first place."

"Sticky fingers, ickle Ronnie," George said with a sneaky grin. "She should have known better by then to give one of us a hug when she couldn't see the other."

"I used to do something similar to my mother," Pansy said, smirking. "Only she was usually so shocked that I wanted a hug that I didn't need an accomplice."

"My mother always used to leave her wand lying around when I was little," Draco said thoughtfully, having been cleaned up by Dobby. "I think she did it on purpose, actually. I went through a phase where I loved the colour blue, and every time I stole her wand I turned everything in the manor turquoise, including my father. She always hid me in the kitchens afterward so I wouldn't get in trouble."

"So what happened at lunch?" Harry asked, still grinning at the image of a turquoise Lucius Malfoy. The twins, who had been laughing themselves sick at the idea, settled down and got back to the story at Harry's question.

"Well, there was Gouda on the menu," they began. "And Wormtail loved that type of cheese, apparently. So naturally they needed more...."

* * *

Dinner came and went in the kitchens as the twins regaled them all with stories of Harry's father and his friends. By the time they left, Harry had heard about the Gouda Catastrophe of '77, which involved, obviously, a lot of Gouda, the Great Hall, and several mice. He had also heard about the time when they coated McGonagall's desk with catnip, among other things. The twins pulled him aside one last time out in the corridor, and shooed the rest of the group away. Dudley, Neville and Ron left with waves and grins, though Draco, Pansy and Blaise waited for Harry's nod before going. Hermione stayed for a moment to reassure Harry that Lupin would get past his upset and squeezed his hand before leaving Harry alone with the twins.

"We were thinking," George said, and the twins had a short staring contest before Fred continued.

"We have something of yours," he said. "And we want to pass it on to you."

"We have faith that you'll keep the oath of the Marauders," George added.

"The oath?" Harry asked, confused. The twins shook their heads at him in unison.

"Harry, Harry, Harry."

"You have so much to learn about your legacy."

"That's what we're for, I suppose." Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper. "And to think it didn't even occur to us that there might be a next generation of Marauders."

"I'm the only one," Harry said, eyeing the parchment with interest. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes it is," George said proudly. "The Marauders' Map." Fred presented it to him with a flourish and a bow.

"It's yours, mate. Never forget the oath."

Harry nodded, eyes glued to the parchment. "Yes, but what's the oath?"

The twins gave him a secret smile. Fred glanced around the silent corridor, checking for eavesdroppers, before joining his twin in placing his wand tip to the parchment and reciting in a low voice, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

* * *

The Map opened up new doors for Harry that he had never even dreamed of. After thanking the twins profusely and memorizing a few more tips about the Map, he made his way down to the dungeons, avidly watching himself move on the Map. When he got to the blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he grinned to see that it was marked off as 'Snake Territory'. Pansy, Draco and Blaise were all waiting for him in the common room, though Harry found to his (slightly guilty) satisfaction that the Maruaders had never really delved further into Slytherin territory than the common room; the delineations of the dormitories were vague, though that didn't stop the Map from identifying anyone. His other three roommates were grouped in an area that was almost certainly Harry's dormitory. Harry's eyes trailed back to the entrance and noted that Adrian Pucey was approaching. Harry wiped the Map clean with the incantation the twins had told him, before placing it very carefully in his pocket and going inside.

"What did they want, Harry?" Blaise asked when he neared their grouping of chairs.

"They had the Map, didn't they?" Draco asked, watching Harry expectantly. "Say that they had the Map, and say they gave it to you. I've got a bet going with Pansy."

"I think they know where the Map is, or want to help you steal it from Filch," Pansy said, lounging in her chair.

Harry glanced around at the other students in the common room and said, "Theo, Vince and Greg are all in the dorm, but your roomates are gone, Pansy. Can we go to your room to talk about this?"

Blaise laughed and Draco grinned smugly at Pansy, who swatted Harry on the arm.

"That is incredibly creepy, you know," she said matter-of-factly, and stood up "Lets go. You three had better have your wits about you on the way, though. There are certain...protections on our part of the dungeons against the likes of you."

Draco scoffed. "What I don't understand is why we don't get the same protection from nymphomanical females like yourself."

Pansy stepped into the hallway of the girls dorm and gave him a level look. "Just for that, you're not getting any forewarnings. And Slytherin must have known boys like you were going to end up in his house. Merlin knows you need all the help you can get, Draco."

Blaise and Harry laughed at Draco, hovering outside the door that separated the girl's hallway from the common room.

"Have fun," Pansy said, waggling her fingers at them as she walked safely down the hall and stepped through the third door on the right.

"Alright, Harry, you go first," Blaise said, pushing at Harry's arm. Harry eyed him incredulously.

"What do you take me for?" he asked. "I vote we send Draco first."

Draco made a sound of betrayal and glared at Harry.

"I second that," Blaise added quickly. He grinned at Draco when the glare was turned on him. "I'm certainly not going first."

Draco changed tactics and fixed Harry with a helpless expression that involved big eyes and a trembling lower lip. Harry furrowed his brow and began to reconsider, but Blaise stepped between them.

"Harry, don't fall for it," he warned, deliberately blocking Draco from view. "Beneath that puppy dog stare is a vicious, conniving bulldog. Always remember that."

Draco began protesting from behind Blaise's back. "I take offense to that, Blaise!"

"You were supposed to," Blaise shot over his shoulder, smirking. "You've been outvoted, Draco. Off you go."

Draco grumbled under his breath and Blaise finally stepped out Harry's view in time for Harry to see Draco take a deep breath and step through the doorway. He immediately yelped and dodged several flagstones that were aimed at his head. Harry crossed his fingers for Draco as he took several more careful steps.

"I feel like I should have a tethering line," Draco said conversationally. "You know, just in case."

"Just keep going," Blaise called cheerfully. "You'll get there eventually."

Draco took another step, and a mist appeared directly in front of him.

"I don't like the look of that," Harry called worriedly.

"I'm almost there," Draco announced. "I'm going to dive through it and try to land in her room. She left the door open."

"Because that's not an incredibly stupid idea," Blaise muttered. "Harry, do me a favour and never be as much of a Gryffindor as Draco."

"Draco, darling, what's taking you so long?" Pansy called innocently from the room. Draco took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Draco, duck!" Harry yelled, and Draco dropped to the ground just as a blast of fire roasted the air at about chest level.

"Holy shit!" Draco yelled from the floor. "What was that?!"

"Just go, Draco!" Blaise urged, eyes wide. "Get to Pansy's room!"

Draco shifted into a crouching position and made a diving leap through the mist, landing with his body halfway through Pansy's door. There was a flash of metal and Draco scrambled out of the way just in time, missing the razor sharp blade that sliced a groove in the floor where his torso had just been.

Harry and Blaise stood stock still for a moment, staring at the doorway.

"Hey, Draco, I changed my mind," Harry called tentatively. "I think we could just go to our room and put up a silencing charm."

There was silence from Pansy's room.

"Good luck getting out, Draco," Pansy snickered eventually.

* * *


	30. The Marauder

"There is no way! _No way,_" Draco yelled from beyond Pansy's doorway. "I am _not_ coming all the way back out there! You two are coming in here and I don't care if you lose an arm!"

Harry glanced at Blaise, who was snickering quietly behind his hand, mindful that Draco not hear him.

"He makes a good point, you know," Harry pointed out. "It's not fair that we make him do it twice for no reason."

Blaise gave Harry an incredulous look. "Who said anything about fair? I'm not getting myself maimed so that Draco can feel that we were 'fair'."

"Here," Harry offered. "I'll go next. If it's the same, you'll know what to do."

Blaise considered his offer, and shook his head. "You're too softhearted for your own good, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Blaise shrugged and gestured at the doorway. "After you."

Harry stepped into the hallway, and immediately ducked the flagstones. Another few steps, and the mist appeared. Harry paused.

"Pansy?" he called.

"Yes, Harry?" Her head appeared through the doorway, smiling inquisitively.

"What did the mist do to Draco?"

Pansy stepped out into the hallway and shrugged. "Just disfigured his face," she said, glancing back into her room and smiling slightly. "I told him he looks better that way, he's sulking in a corner. Also," she lowered her voice to a whisper and started walking toward him. "I'm pretty sure it's also got some sort of temporary impotence curse built in."

Harry's eyes widened and he took a step back. Pansy paused, opening her mouth to warn him, and Harry saw the snakes just in time. He dashed forward at a crouch and leapt through the mist, landing in Pansy's room and missing the blade by a hair.

He rolled a few times and landed against a bedpost. Harry got his bearings and sat up after a moment, looking around. The room was set up the same as the boys dorm, only with a lot more pink involved. There was a huddled blonde lump on the bed he had fetched up against, which meant it was probably Pansy's. All the pink looked to be her fault.

"Hey, Draco, we made it," Harry said, joining him on the bed.

"My face hurts," was Draco's reply. Harry considered this for a moment, and found that he quite agreed. Whatever disfigurement the mist had caused hurt quite a lot.

"Aren't you two a sad sight," Blaise said as he walked in with Pansy on his arm. Draco looked up at him, then at Harry, then at Blaise again. His eyes narrowed. Harry joined him. Draco's face was covered in pustules and angry red spots, and Harry was sure he looked no better. Blaise, on the other hand, looked fine. Harry gave Pansy a look of betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked, holding his jaw, where a particularly angry sore had chosen that moment to start throbbing.

"I didn't mean for you to go through by yourself, Harry," Pansy said sympathetically. "Just Draco. If I had brought you in, the traps wouldn't have been activated."

"Thanks a million Pansy," Draco muttered. "Harry here is my only true friend."

"Oh hush up, Draco, I've got some salve here that'll clear you right up." Pansy walked over to a desk that Harry was almost certain did not belong to her and started rooting through the drawers. Harry made eye contact with Draco, then glanced at Blaise, who was still standing by the door looking smug. Draco narrowed his eyes and nodded slightly.

Harry stood up and pretended to watch Pansy while Draco frowned and rubbed at his face.

"Draco, if you touch it, you'll just make it worse," Pansy said patiently from the desk. "Here it is." She held up a small bottle.

"Good," Draco said, and stood up as well. Instead of walking toward Pansy, though, he raised his wand and advanced on Blaise.

"Hey!" Blaise yelped in surprise as Harry launched himself at their smug friend and tossed him out the door. Draco poked his head out for a moment and cast _Colloportus_ at the entrance to the common room before slamming Pansy's door shut and locking it firmly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Come here, Harry." She began applying the salve to his face, pausing only a moment when they heard Blaise yelling and hammering on the door.

"Harry, I can't apply this when you're smirking like that."

"Sorry, Pansy."

"Let me in you bastards! Ow! Harry, there are snakes out here! Help me!"

Draco sighed and leaned against the door with a small smile on his face. "Me next, Pansy?" There was a roaring sound, and Blaise howled. "There goes the fire," he said with satisfaction.

* * *

They let Blaise back in when Harry and Draco's faces had gone back to normal, and Pansy cast a colour charm on the doorknob that was apparently her room's code that meant she needed privacy and that her roommates were to sleep elsewhere.

"It's not like the snakes were poisonous, Blaise," Harry said reasonably, reclining on the bed as Pansy applied Blaise's salve. Draco was sitting next to the bed in Pansy's desk chair, watching every flinch with enjoyment.

"I was wrong about you, Harry," Blaise told him. "You're not softhearted at all. You're just as vicious as Draco." He didn't sound as upset about it as he might have, so Harry just grinned at him.

"Your training is complete, Harry," Draco said proudly. "Now lets see that map of yours."

Harry sat up and pulled it out of his pocket, spreading it out on the bed so that they could all see it clearly.

"Alright, now watch," he said, and Pansy quickly finished applying the salve to Blaise's face and sat on the foot of the bed, where Blaise joined her. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry recited, and the Map came alive, lines winging out to every corner of the parchment. All four of them leaned over it, watching avidly.

"Look, there's Gryffindor Tower," Pansy said, smirking. "I wonder what Granger is doing in the boys dorm."

"That's her cat," Harry said, pointing at the name next to Hermione's. "Crookshanks probably snuck in or something, apparently he's always trying to break into Dudley's room."

"There's Filch," Blaise said, pointing at a nearby corridor. "I didn't know there was a broom closet in that part of the seventh floor."

"Have you ever seen this passage?" Harry asked, pointing out a set of lines that led from the seventh floor to the fifth.

"I haven't," Blaise said, tracing another with his finger. "Nor this one."

"I've seen that one," Draco said. "I use it when I'm in the library and late for Charms. It's behind a tapestry."

They examined the Map for a while in silence, speaking only to point out an interesting room or corridor they'd never seen. They found several passages that led off the grounds, toward Hogsmede, which they all thought would be especially useful. Blaise had just found another and they were debating where in Hogsmede it might lead when Harry's snake slithered down from his spot on Harry's upper arm, hissing madly.

"_I smell it, I smell the man. He is nearby!_"

Harry opened his mouth to reply just as Pansy gasped and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Harry, it's Black!"

Harry followed her pointing finger to the passage they had just been discussing. A dot labeled 'Sirius Black' was moving along at a rapid pace.

"_Thank you,_" Harry said, stroking his snake's scales as he stared fixedly at the moving dot.

"That comes out on the third floor," Draco said softly, eyes wide. They watched with bated breath as Black made his way into the third floor corridor and slowed down considerably.

"He's not even going near the Dementors," Blaise whispered. "That's how he's been getting in so easily. Merlin, what do we do?"

Harry looked toward the door. Draco grabbed the arm Pansy didn't already have a hold of tightly and said, "No, Harry."

All three of them were staring at him now. Pansy's hand lingered near her wand on the bed.

"Don't even think it," she said calmly. "I have to let you out unless you want to go through that obstacle course again, and I'm not going to."

"But what if he-" Harry began, only to be cut off by Blaise, who was looking at the Map.

"He's going up," he said, anticipating Harry's argument. "You won't be in any danger unless you go chasing after him."

Harry examined the Map, confused. Black was, in fact, heading upward, taking only secret passages.

"He helped make the Map," Harry breathed. "He knows this school better than anyone. No wonder he didn't get caught last time."

"I find it particularly interesting that he still knows the school so well," Pansy said thoughtfully. "He must have kept some part of his sanity, at least."

"What is he doing?" Harry muttered, frustrated. Not once had Black done as they expected, right now included. "Why is he going to Gryffindor again?"

There was nowhere else Black could be going. He had headed up without a thought, and he was on the seventh floor already, a short distance from the entrance to Gryffindor, when he disappeared off the Map.

"Where did he go?" Draco cried out. Harry leaned forward and studied the Map anxiously. He couldn't have just gone, he had to be somewhere, he couldn't just disappear!

"There!" Pansy said, pointing. Black had reappeared in the Gryffindor common room, near an outer wall.

"That must be a passage," Harry said firmly. "Why didn't they put it on the Map?"

"Maybe they wanted to keep it a secret?" Blaise suggested. "Just in case the Map fell into the wrong hands?"

"It couldn't have been a guarded entrance," Pansy said. "He got in too easily."

"They have a portrait that guards the entrance for them," Draco said. "Harry and I met her when we went there in second year."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "He would never have gotten past her if she knew he was there. It must be a hidden entrance. But _why_ is he up there? What is he doing?"

A moment later Black made his way up the boys' staircase, and Harry jumped up out of his seat. Draco stood at the same time and pulled out his wand, looking nervous but resolute.

"Draco, I can't just sit here and watch!" Harry yelled, angry and frantic now. "What if Ron doesn't wake up in time again? Dudley and Neville are up there too!"

"You're not going," Blaise said firmly. Pansy stood up too, and all three were pointing their wands at Harry now, though none of them looked happy about it. "You're not getting yourself killed, Harry."

"He doesn't even care about me," Harry said, trying to reason with them as his hand inched toward his own wand. "He must know where I am now, and he's not made one attempt to even look in my direction. I could just go to Snape's office-"

Pansy, who had been keeping an eye on the Map, interrupted him. "He's gone in the fourth year boys' dorm, not the third," she reported.

"What the bloody hell is he doing?" Harry cried, frustrated and confused beyond belief. "Why did he go in there?"

"Language, Harry," Pansy chided, still watching the Map. "He's poking around, not even near the beds. There's Hermione's cat, and-"

"What?" Harry dropped back down on the bed and stared at the section of the Map Pansy was indicating in bewilderment.

"There are too many people in that room," Draco noted. "There are only five Gryffindor boys in fourth year, and there are six people in there aside from Black and the cat."

Harry spotted the extra dot almost immediately; it was the only other one moving. When he read the name, his breath caught in his chest.

"Peter Pettigrew?" Blaise asked. "He's not a fourth year. I don't know who he is."

"That can't be right," Harry said softly. "Draco, Pansy, do you know anyone named Peter?"

Draco and Pansy shook their heads. "What's wrong, Harry?" Pansy asked, concerned.

"Peter Pettigrew is supposed to be dead," Harry said, watching closely as Black prowled through the room, clearly looking for something, and Pettigrew skittered around, avoiding his path. Harry wasn't sure how he was keeping hidden. Crookshanks paced by the door, almost as if he was guarding it.

"Hang on, are we talking about the Peter Pettigrew that Black is supposed to have killed? Thirteen years ago?" There was a faint note of incredulity to Draco's voice, and Harry could see why.

"Do you know of any other Peter?" Harry asked. "Seriously, do you? Because I agree that this isn't exactly likely."

They all thought quietly. "Tracy's father's name is Peter," Pansy offered. Then she frowned. "It could be Patrick, actually. I'm not certain. But his last name is Davis, obviously."

"Lupin told me the Map never lies," Harry said. "I got the idea that they had tested it extensively to make sure."

"So what you're saying," Blaise began, "Is that Black didn't break out to do evil, debauched, murderous things at all, but to capture Peter Pettigrew, who he didn't actually kill thirteen years ago."

"He never got a trial," Harry said. "If Pettigrew is alive, then what else do you think they would have found out if they'd given him one?"

"Barnaby Haskins is out of bed," Pansy said suddenly. They all crowded around the Map to watch. "Look, he's up, Black is on the other side of the room. I don't think he sees him."

"Are you kidding me, Haskins?" Draco muttered as the fourth year's dot moved toward the loo. "Sirius bloody Black is standing right behind you and you're going to take a piss?"

"Black couldn't have a wand, could he?" Harry asked, the thought having just occurred to him. They all contemplated this worriedly for a moment, before Blaise noticed something else.

"Look at the Headmaster's office!"

"What?"

"Over here," Blaise said, pointing out several dots converging around a room labelled 'Headmaster's Office'. "Those are all teachers. Something's going on."

"There goes Black," Pansy said, pointing at Gryffindor again. "Probably worried that Haskins is going to come back and see him. The cat stayed though, and Pettigrew is still stuck."

"They must know he's here," Draco said, watching the teachers now. "How do they know he's here?"

Harry thought he might have a good idea. "Where's Ravenclaw Tower?" Harry adjusted the Map until he found what he was looking for. "Look, they're all in their common room." Harry gave his friends a pointed look. "Anthony's snake must have smelled Black too, and _he _was actually allowed to leave his dorm to get help."

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. "I'm sure Snape will be here soon, then. You three ought to get back to your dorm, come on. It's nearly two in the morning, I don't need the rumours that will fly if you're all discovered in here."

"But what about Black?" Harry asked. "I want to keep an eye on him and see where he goes."

"We'd better hurry and get you in your room then, hadn't we?" Pansy said, folding the Map up. "How do you make it blank again?"

Harry took it from her and tapped it, muttering. "Mischief Managed."

"Your father might as well have been one of the Weasley twins," Draco commented, taking one of Pansy's arms. Harry took the other, leaving Blaise to wait for the next trip.

"I get the feeling from Lupin's stories that they all four were worse than the Weasley twins," Harry said. Pansy walked them down the hallway and into the empty common room and turned around to get Blaise.

"Merlin, imagine the Weasley twins squared," Draco shuddered as they walked to their own room. "So glad I wasn't born yet."

"I think it would've been fun," Harry said. Draco shook his head.

"You would. The only way that could be fun is if they liked you."

Harry smiled. "Of course they'd like me, I'm directly related. Though it would've been terrible family planning on my parents' part to have had me when they were still in school."

Draco bumped shoulders with him and laughed. "I don't normally have reason to say this, Harry, but you're just weird sometimes."

Back in their room, they immediately climbed into Harry's bed. Draco shut the curtains while Harry pulled out the Map and reactivated it. Blaise and Pansy arrived a moment later, and they spelled the curtains with several privacy charms before they spoke.

"You know, this is no better than us being alone in your room," Draco commented to Pansy as Harry scoured the Map for Black. "In fact, it might be even worse since we're actually in a bed behind privacy charms."

"Black's leaving," Harry said, sitting back against the headboard and letting out a gusty sigh. "Same way he came in, he's already halfway down the passage."

"This Map is incredibly useful," Blaise commented. "We get to know what's going on in the whole castle from the safety of Harry's bed."

"And do absolutely nothing about it, apparently," Harry said, a touch bitterly.

"What would you have done, Harry?" Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought Draco was the Gryffindor in this group."

"Is it 'Insult Draco Day' or something, and I missed the flyer?" Draco grumbled, largely ignored by Harry, who was glaring at Blaise, and Blaise, who was staring steadily back. Pansy patted him on the shoulder, but otherwise ignored him as well, watching the other two boys quietly.

"I would have done _something_," Harry said finally. "I would have gotten a teacher, at the very least. Snape's office is right down the hall, nowhere near Gryffindor Tower. I wouldn't have just sat here and watched it all happen."

"Sometimes you can't help, Harry," Blaise said. "Sometimes trying just makes things worse. If you had gone rushing up there and confronted Black, it would have blown up in your face and you would have ended up dead, or at the very least, injured."

"Why couldn't I go get a teacher, then?" Harry challenged. "What giant debacle would have resulted from telling Snape?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "If we hadn't seen that Anthony had done it already, Pansy or Draco or I could have gone. It didn't _have_ to be you. It shouldn't be you. You're the only one intimately involved in this, it's not-"

"Shut up, Blaise," Harry said irritably. Blaise set his hands in his lap and watched Harry silently. Harry wiped the Map clean with a tap of his wand, folded it up, and stuck it in his bedside drawer. "Snape is coming," he told Pansy. She nodded, frowning, and slipped through the privacy charms and out the door.

Blaise sat watching Harry for another moment before getting up and going to his own bed. Draco joined Harry leaning against the headboard, and Harry moved over to make room without a sound. Draco sat quietly until Harry finally spoke.

"Blaise is a bastard."

Draco nodded. They sat in silence for a moment more.

"Was he right?"

Draco took a moment to respond, and when he did, he sighed. "He's worried about you, Harry. We all are. A mass murderer breaks out of prison and everyone thinks he's after you, except he doesn't seem to be going after you at all, so he's either crazy or he's got a completely different goal, and no one knows what that is. It's concerning."

Harry nodded grudgingly, but Draco continued.

"You want him to be innocent." It wasn't a question. "And the way he's acting, who knows? But you really want it, Harry. Blaise was worried that you'd go up there and believe the first story he told you, true or not, just because you want to."

"I'm not an idiot, Draco," Harry said wearily.

"We know you're not," Draco assured him. "You might be weird, but you're not stupid."

Harry gave him a small smile and knocked the side of his head against Draco's, just as his curtains rustled and one of the prefects pulled them open.

"Come on, you two, Snape's doing a head count." Snape did this every so often, lining up the students by year to make sure everyone was still there, especially after curfew on Hogsmede weekends. Harry cancelled the privacy charms, which garnered a raised eyebrow from the prefect. He and Draco climbed out of bed and joined their dorm mates in heading down the hall to the common room with the other students, taking their places next to the third year girls. Pansy made eye contact with Harry and raised her eyebrow. He shrugged and rolled his eyes a little.

Snape made his rounds, and found only one student absent, a first year that was soon found sound asleep in his bed, having ignored the prefect's summons. After he took his place in line, Snape stood in front of them and made the announcement.

"It has been brought to the attention of the faculty that Sirius Black is in the castle." No one looked particularly surprised, as it wasn't a Hogsmede weekend and there wasn't much else Snape called these head counts for. "We will not be making our way to the Great Hall, as Professor Dumbledore has decided it is ill advised to have students roaming the corridors with a murderer loose." The touch of sarcasm in Snape's voice when he said this told them what he thought of the idea of moving them in the first place, and whose idea it probably had been to keep them in their houses. "The castle is being searched. None of you is to leave your dormitories until morning; the Bloody Baron will be on patrol. Is that understood? Good. To bed. Mr. Potter, you will see me before you retire."

Harry approached Snape carefully through the throng of grumpy Slytherins making their way back to their beds. "Professor?"

"The faculty was alerted to Black's presence by Anthony Goldstein." Snape's eyes narrowed. "Apparently his snake told him."

Harry bit the inside of his lip where Snape couldn't see and nodded. "Yes sir, he wanted to learn Parseltongue last year. We've been practicing for a while, and he talks to his snake, Douglas, when he's at home and wants to practice without my help."

"I wasn't aware that you were giving out Parseltongue lessons, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "How is it that Mr. Goldstein's snake was able to identify Black's presence in the castle?"

"The last time Black broke in, he was in my cousin's dorm, sir," Harry explained. "Ron Weasley and I are acquaintances, and he let Anthony and I bring our snakes in so that they could identify Black's scent. We told them to warn us if they ever smelled it again, and they did."

"They both did?" Snape questioned with interest. "Why did you not also raise the alarm?"

Harry felt a fresh wave of annoyance at his friends. "I was detained, sir."

"Detained?"

"My friends decided it was in my best interests to stay in the dorm with Black in the castle, as they were worried he was looking for me. They reasoned that if my snake could sense him, then Anthony's could too, and that he would get help."

Snape nodded, apparently satisfied. "Thirty points to Slytherin for assisting another student in alerting the staff of a threat to the school. Ten points for not alerting the staff yourself, and five points each to Mr. Zabini, Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy for attempting to protect another student from harm." Harry blinked. "And detention, Mr. Potter, tomorrow night in my office. That is all."

Snape swept out the door, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the empty common room, staring after him.

* * *


	31. The Lessons

* * *

"What did you get detention for?" Draco asked as they headed up to breakfast the next morning. Harry shrugged.

"He didn't actually say," he explained. "It was kind of out of nowhere."

When they arrived in the Entrance Hall, Anthony was waiting for them.

"Did your snake sense him too?" he asked immediately, holding up the wrist that Harry knew Douglas preferred.

Harry nodded. "She was very vocal about it." Anthony grinned.

"Mine too, and now the other Ravenclaws have stopped glaring at me when I talk to Douglas in the common room."

"Snape mentioned that you were the one who alerted the teachers," said Harry, nodding. "I, on the other hand, was held at wandpoint and not allowed to tell anyone."

"That's not true at all," Blaise objected. Harry had decided to let the argument rest last night and had told Blaise he was a prat but that he understood why. Blaise had gracefully accepted this wisdom from under three layers of blankets and told Harry to shut up and go to bed. "You could have told the entire castle, if you had wanted. You just would have had to stand in the Slytherin common room and shout really loudly."

"The Slytherins would have heard you, at any rate," Draco agreed. "Probably would have told you to stuff it, but they would have heard you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I have something to tell you later, Anthony, in the library."

Anthony nodded. "Three o'clock?" Harry agreed and they parted ways at the entrance to the Great Hall.

"So does anyone actually know where Black was, or just that he was in the castle?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Pansy's eyes shone with excitement. "If you want, I can have a few rumours going that he was in Gryffindor again, in the fourth year dorm by lunchtime."

Harry grinned. "Can it be common knowledge by dinner?"

Pansy nodded, enthused. "And no one will know where they first heard it."

* * *

When three o'clock finally arrived, Harry made his way to the library, having made a short detour at his dormitory to pick up the Map. At the library, Harry ducked through the doors and gave the room a quick glance. There were few students scattered around at the various tables, most of them upper years. Anthony was at his usual table, Luna Lovegood sitting across from him reading a newspaper with Ravenclawian interest. Harry went over and sat next to her, greeting them each with a smile. He wasn't certain how much he trusted Luna at this point, and he didn't want just anyone knowing about the Map.

"Hello Anthony, hello Luna," he said. Anthony blinked and set his book down, only having just noticed his arrival.

"What was it you wanted to talk about, then?" he asked. Luna murmured a late greeting as well and turned the page. Harry noted that Anthony was glancing surreptitiously at the open book he'd set on the table and wondered what it took, exactly, to get a Ravenclaw's undivided attention. Perhaps if he convinced Hermione to transfigure him into an encyclopaedia.

"I wanted to tell you about what happened last night," Harry said, mentally getting back to the point and lowering his voice. "Black was up in Gryffindor again. He was in the fourth year boys' dormitory this time."

Anthony gave him an interested look. "How do you know? Your snake couldn't possibly have told you all that."

Harry shook his head. "I'll show you later," he said. "But there was someone else there too, named Peter Pettigrew, which is the name of the man that Black is supposed to have killed thirteen years ago."

Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "That's intriguing."

Harry nodded. "Also, Snape mentioned your lessons," he said. "And he gave me detention."

Anthony frowned. "Over the lessons?"

"Actually," Harry said, shrugging, "I'm not really sure. He was awarding points one second and giving me a detention the next. He didn't even say why."

"It was probably nargles," Luna said vaguely. "It is around that time of year."

"What's a nargle?" Harry asked, never having heard of one. Anthony appeared interested in the answer as well, which confused Harry further, as he was usually the only ignorant one when dealing with people that had grown up in the wizarding world.

"Nargles are little creatures that infest mistletoe," Luna informed them, not even glancing up from her paper. "A nargle bite can cause dizziness, irrationality and a lack of inhibition. You want to be careful about standing around underneath mistletoe for too long."

Anthony nodded thoughtfully, and jotted down a note on a piece of parchment next to him.

"Alright," Harry said, blinking. "Well either way, I don't know what the detention is for, but it's tonight."

"You'll find out shortly, then," Anthony said. "Do you think Black's break-in had anything to do with that article of yours?"

Harry bit his lip. The thought had come up. He was just happy he hadn't had Defense today, and so had avoided seeing Professor Lupin's reaction. "Possibly," Harry admitted. "Probably. We wanted a reaction, I suppose, and we got it. I just wish I knew what it meant."

"He seems to have proved your point about the dementors at least," Anthony pointed out. "That's twice he's gotten past them without so much as a fuss."

Harry nodded. "I don't think they'll be around much longer. Pansy said they'll probably be gone by the end of the week."

"The ghosts will be glad," Luna said vaguely. Harry looked over at her again. She had set her paper down on the table and Harry could see that it wasn't the _Daily Prophet_.

"The ghosts?" he asked, slightly bewildered. "What do they have to do with anything?"

"Well they're not going to have to worry so much, are they?" Luna asked, her protuberant eyes widening. "The Grey Lady told me how she misses her walks on the grounds."

Harry looked at Anthony, who had his eyes cast downward at his book even though his face was pointing at Harry, then back at Luna. "I don't understand," he said finally. "What do the ghosts have to worry about?"

"Well, it's the difference between a wizard eating steak or a live bull, isn't it?" Luna asked rhetorically. "Which would you choose? Someone else has done all the work of preparing the steak. All you have to do is eat it, it's not going to be able to stop you. But if you try to take a bite out of a bull, it's going to be very cross with you. It's unlikely you'll walk away feeling full."

Harry blinked. "I suppose that makes sense."

As Harry worked his mind around Luna's analogy, he noticed Blaise sauntering into the library. He paused, waved at Hermione's regular table, where she was studying with Dudley and Neville, and headed over to where Harry sat.

"Hello Blaise," Anthony said, picking his book back up. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing he had lost Anthony to Blaise's intrusion. Anthony usually figured that Harry didn't need his attention if he had someone else's, especially when he had a book with him. Maybe Draco was right about Ravenclaws, Harry mused as Luna began humming to herself as she flipped through her newspaper.

"Hey Anthony," Blaise responded easily. "Harry, come with me. I've got a idea I think you'll want to be part of."

Harry waved goodbye as they left the table, but aside from a slight tilt of the head that could have been a nod from Anthony, the only reaction to his departure was that Luna began swaying to the song she'd previously only been humming to.

* * *

"What's this idea?" Harry asked as they scaled the steps to the third floor. "I wanted to get some work done before dinner, I've got detention after, you know."

"You'll see in a moment," Blaise said as they rounded a corner. He walked right up to a statue of a rather ugly one eyed witch with a hump. "Here we are."

Harry stared at the statue for a moment, before realizing that he was in the third floor and that the entrance Black had used was likely nearby.

"This is it?" Harry asked. Blaise nodded with a smile. "How did you figure that out?"

"I remembered which corridor it was in, naturally," Blaise said. "And this is the only thing in this area that could possibly conceal a passageway." He frowned. "Not sure how, though. But this has got to be it."

Harry eyed the statue again. "Hang on, let me check the Map."

"Oh good, you've got it with you," Blaise said as Harry pulled it out and cast the spell. He located them standing next to the statue, and sure enough, this was the passage. Harry frowned at the statue again for a moment, and looked down at the Map again.

"There's a little speech bubble," Harry said, peering closely at himself on the Map. "That's amazing, actually. Tap it and say 'dissendium'."

Blaise tried it, and sure enough, the hump opened. It looked like you would have to go down a bit of a slide to get to the actual passage.

"Alright, here's our chance to do something," Blaise said, and Harry glanced at him for his word choice. Blaise had his eyebrows raised expectantly, along with his wand. "Lets make sure he can't get back in this way. Maybe then he won't be able to bypass all the protections on the school and another break-in won't happen."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I wish I knew how the prefects change passwords," he said, closing up the hump. "I think we should put some kind of alarm on it, though."

Blaise nodded. "And a few nasty jinxes, as well. Maybe some binding charms? Just enough to keep him busy long enough for someone to find him here, especially if he doesn't have a wand."

Harry grinned and rolled up his sleeves. Blaise could be incredibly clever sometimes.

* * *

At exactly eight o'clock that night, Harry knocked on the door to Professor Snape's office, feeling slightly nervous. He could think of a few things Snape might want to talk about, but to be honest, he really didn't have a clue what this was about.

The door opened, and Harry stepped inside to see Snape at his desk, writing something. He waved a distracted hand at a chair, and Harry sat down, waiting silently. When Snape finished a few minutes later, he set his quill down deliberately and looked straight at Harry.

"Imagine my surprise when I heard what you had to say in the Daily Prophet the other day," he said coolly. "What did you mean to accomplish?"

It was strange that Snape would mirror Lupin's words, when he disliked the other professor so much. Harry lifted his head and attempted an explanation.

"We had hoped that if Black thought I was on his side, that maybe he would consent to a trial, sir," Harry said, feeling slightly uncertain. "Pansy and Draco said that he would probably at least consider the idea, and that if I said he was innocent, then people might even believe it. Even if he isn't, he at least wouldn't be loose anymore."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You did all this on the words of Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy," he stated. When Harry didn't say anything, he continued. "I suppose proclaiming that the dementors are unnecessary was their idea as well?"

"Well," Harry said, "I mean, he's gotten past them twice now. Three times if you count Azkaban. They just don't seem to matter to Black. All they're doing is demoralizing the rest of us, sir."

"A point," Snape allowed, watching Harry. "Mr. Potter, as your Head of House, I ask that you consult me from now on before making the decision to play on your fame. Words cannot describe how foolish this manoeuvre was. Among other things, inviting Rita Skeeter into your life is something I guarantee you will regret." Harry nodded, abashed, and Snape continued, leaning forward across the desk. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that Black is anything other than a criminal. I assure you, he deserved Azkaban."

Harry nodded again and remained silent, staring at the desk. Snape allowed the silence to stretch to the limit of comfort before continuing.

"Now," he said, standing. "I think you would benefit from private tutoring."

Harry's eyes flew up to meet Snape's level gaze with surprise. "Sir?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "As I am certain you are aware, Mr. Potter, I am a Potions Master."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, nonplussed. He hadn't realized his Potions grade was so bad.

"I also possess many other skills," Snape said. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example, is a specialty of mine." He met Harry's eyes directly. "Know thine enemy," he intoned. "I am also quite adept at the Dark Arts." He began to pace purposefully behind his desk. "Duelling, the mind magics, Occulmency and Legilimency. Nonverbal spells are normally taught in the sixth year curriculum. I can have you mute by the end of term."

He stopped and faced Harry. "The animagus transformation," he said, smirking slightly at Harry's wide eyed expression. "It is best to have a mentor to guide you during the process. Some things cannot be learned from a book."

Harry stared, his mind racing at the possibilities. But first.

Snape obviously had something to gain from offering Harry this.

"Anthony checked," Harry said slowly. "There are no books on Parseltongue."

Snape's eyes gleamed.

* * *

"He _what_?" Draco said again.

"He offered a trade," Harry said, grinning. "I teach him Parseltongue, he teaches me pretty much whatever I want him to. I'm to owl him before Christmas with my decision."

They were walking to Defense. Harry wasn't looking forward to seeing Lupin again, as he felt a bit foolish after Snape's talk, not to mention the fact that as far as Lupin was concerned, he'd been right about Harry waving a flag and encouraging Black to come looking for him in the castle. Pansy's rumours about Gryffindor Tower were still only rumours, after all.

When they arrived, however, it was Professor Snape standing at the head of the class.

* * *

"A roll of parchment on the identification and destruction of werewolves?" Harry repeated incredulously, once they were safely out of earshot of the Defense room. "When did we start learning about werewolves? I thought we were on hinkypunks!"

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Were you going to say something, Harry? Because I thought one detention with Snape this year was enough for you. Did you see the look on his face?"

"He was making a point," Blaise said. "I don't know what his point was, but he was certainly making one."

"Probably that Lupin's a bad teacher and that learning about hinkypunks is useless," Draco said. Harry glared at him, and he raised his hands defensively. "What? That's what he probably thinks, not me!"

Harry glared for another moment before drooping slightly. "You don't think Lupin missed class because of Black's break-in, do you?"

"I doubt it, Harry," Pansy said comfortingly. "I don't think Lupin would miss class unless he was actually sick. He's not the type."

"It is getting nasty out there," Draco said, nodding his head at a window nearby. The snow was thick enough that all Harry could see was white.

"I can't wait until break," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose at the sight. "I'm going to Greece to visit family. It'll be nice there, at least."

"I'm just going to stay in the Manor for most of the holiday, I think," Draco said. "All this weather is just bothersome."

"What're you doing, Harry?" Blaise asked. "Going home with your cousin?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "I'm going to actually play in the snow," he said, smirking at Draco and Pansy. "You know, snowmen, igloos, all that fun _winter_ stuff you do when it's _winter_. I'm not going to flee from the weather."

Pansy shuddered delicately. "Suit yourself, Harry. Personally, I'm going to say 'I told you so' when we all end up spending Christmas at your funeral because they found your cold, dead, frostbitten carcass in some snowbank on the side of the road."

"Is that a threat, Pansy?" Harry asked, grinning at her description.

"Possibly," she said. "I did call your death, after all."

"Sirius Black and Mia don't know what they're up against," Blaise agreed, his face a serious mask.

All three of them stared at him blankly for about three seconds, then Harry burst into laughter along with Pansy. Draco grimaced as though he was trying very hard not to smile.

"Go on, Draco," Blaise said, grinning. "You know you think it's funny. My comic genius astounds you."

"Genius is probably not the best choice of words," Draco shot back, but he was grinning now. "Failure, maybe? Although it does astound me, I admit. I thought you said Ian, anyway?"

Harry shook his head. "Ian would only work if he had an extra 'n' somewhere."

Blaise deliberated this for a moment. "Tomn," he said. "The n is silent. T-O-M-N."

"No," Pansy waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Because you'd still have that extra 'm' in there. It would have to be Ton. Or Not. His name could be Not Marvolo Riddle."

"Am I the only one who thinks this is a bit blasphemous?" Draco muttered, sticking his hands in his robe pockets.

"Yes," Pansy said without hesitation. "He's no god, Draco. He's dead."

Draco gave her a skeptical look, though he offered up a suggestion of his own. "Rot Varnolo Middle?"

_

* * *

  
_


	32. The Holiday

* * *

"I still don't understand why we need to take pictures of every snowman," Dudley said.

He and Harry were at the park in Little Whinging, and Harry was posing proudly next to a snowman that was taller than him by at least two feet. As the only two people willing to venture out since the blizzard last night, they were taking full advantage of all the untouched snow by building as many snowmen as possible.

"I'm making a point, Dudley," Harry explained, patting the snowman, which teetered dangerously. "Pansy and Draco are going to see what they're missing out on, hiding from the winter."

Dudley rolled his eyes and snapped the picture. "Why are we using a muggle camera, though?"

Harry backed quickly away from the snowman in case it fell. "Two reasons," he explained, jumping into a deep patch of untouched snow and sinking up to his knees. "The first is that I forgot to buy one when we went to Diagon Alley before Christmas." He stretched his arms out above his head and fell onto his back. Dudley walked over and took another picture, at which Harry stuck out his tongue.

"And the other reason?" Dudley asked, setting the camera on top of Harry's bag where it lay nearby. He joined Harry in the drift as the snowman collapsed to the ground.

"The other reason," Harry said as they waved their arms languidly, making snow angels, "Is that I don't think Pansy has ever really seen a muggle picture before, and I think it'd be funny to see her reaction."

Dudley snickered. "Oh no!" he said in a high pitched voice. "The poor little people aren't moving! Are they dead?"

"What have you done to them?" Harry added in a similarly high voice, laughing outright. "Did you petrify them?"

After a short while, they got up and admired their imprints in the snow. They were nearly identical, though Dudley's was a bit bigger and Harry's had large holes in it's legs where he had been standing. Harry grabbed the camera and took a picture of them as well.

Uncle Vernon was taking them to Diagon Alley later, once he got back from work. They planned to meet Neville and Anthony there. Dudley was going to spend the rest of the break with Neville, Harry with Anthony, and Uncle Vernon with Aunt Marge, who was coming up to visit tomorrow. It all worked out extremely well, in Harry's opinion, but then again, a lot of things had been working out well lately, except for that last snowman. Harry exchanged actual presents with Uncle Vernon this year, for example. (Uncle Vernon had gotten him an obnoxious red and gold Christmas sweater, but Harry figured it was the thought that counted.)

The Dementors had been removed from Hogwarts after much debate directly before break started, which meant that Harry had not been required to pass them on the way to the train, and the trip home had been decent. The traps in the secret passage at Hogwarts had not been triggered yet, either. And Harry was spending the rest of the holiday with Anthony, whom he was hoping would help him explore some of the features of the Marauder's Map that Harry still had yet to work out. There were things about the Map that Harry didn't know, he was sure of it.

"Harry," Dudley called, and a snowball whacked Harry in the head as he turned. Harry dove behind a snow bank with a yell and prepared his own ammunition. Dudley already had a handful, and Harry refused to be ambushed. The next snowball sailed past Harry's faux-fort and hit Uncle Vernon's car.

Harry poked his head out from behind the snow bank warily. Uncle Vernon climbed out of the car and promptly had to duck.

"Dudley!"

"Sorry, dad." He sounded anything but. Harry grinned.

"Are you two ready to go?" Uncle Vernon asked, watching Dudley suspiciously. Dudley nodded and let the snowballs in his arms fall as he picked up Harry's bag, which held both his and Harry's trunks inside Harry's little box of wizard space.

"Let's go," he said. Harry held his position until Dudley had his back turned and Harry felt he had a sporting chance of hitting him in the back of the head. He let fly his ammo, and his aim was true.

* * *

"l still think you're a sneak," Dudley grumbled as they waited for Anthony to arrive.

"Slytherin, remember?" Harry shrugged. "It's my nature."

Dudley rolled his eyes and glanced at Neville, who had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron by floo a few minutes ago.

"Can't trust a Slytherin," he muttered, nudging Neville with his elbow. Harry raised his eyebrow and took offense.

"'Course you can trust me, Dudders," he said with a sweet smile. "I mean, who made us breakfast this morning? If you're not worried that I might have spiked your oatmeal with, say, one or two or those Zonko's products you left in the bottom left drawer of your desk, then I don't think we have to worry about trust issues."

Dudley blanched, and gave Harry, who was grinning innocently at him, a worried look. Neville snickered and waved at someone behind Harry.

It was Anthony. "Hello," he said, nodding at Dudley and Neville. He turned to Harry. "Ready to go?"

"We'll see you at school, Harry," Neville said, tugging a now suspicious Dudley to his feet and hefting one end of Dudley's trunk. Harry waved at them and left with Anthony.

"Have you ever ridden on the Knight Bus?" Anthony asked as they left the Leaky Cauldron. Harry shook his head and eyed the large, violently purple bus waiting for them. There was a brown haired woman standing in the door.

"You'll be Harry then?" she asked, stepping aside so they could enter. Harry nodded and stepped up into the bus behind Anthony, noting with some worry the thick glasses worn by the bus driver. "I am Anthony's mother, Madeline Goldstein," said the brown haired woman as she led him through the bus. "You may call me Madeline, or 'Excuse Me, Ma'am', if you are uncomfortable with using my given name. Asking for a 'Mrs. Goldstein' will give you the attention of my mother-in-law's eccentric ghost while you remain on the property, so I suggest you avoid it."

She was interrupted at this point by a pimply boy in a purple cap which matched the bus. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency-"

"We don't need the speech, thank you," Madeline said curtly. She led Harry and Anthony over to a grouping of armchairs at the back of the bus. "Trust me, it's best if you have two walls to brace against for the first trip," she assured Harry, seating him in the corner.

Harry sat, setting his bag down beside him. The boy, who seemed to be the conductor, looked rather put out at his dismissal and went back to the front of the bus.

"Of course, I've paid your fare," Anthony's mother said in a matter of fact tone, placing her feet firmly on the ground. "You might want to pick up your bag."

Harry reached down to pull it into his lap, but the bus lurched forward very suddenly and nearly threw him out of his chair. Anthony caught the bag by the strap with his foot, though he didn't make the same mistake Harry did of leaning forward to pick it up.

"We take the Knight Bus a lot," Anthony said. "It's an interesting way to get around. Useful, too. You can hail it anywhere, it's rather like finding a muggle taxi, I believe. You just hold up your wand hand and it'll show up."

Harry nodded and felt grateful for being in a corner. The three of them discussed the differences between muggle taxis and the Knight Bus for a few minutes, until Anthony and his mother seemed to tire of the topic and decided to drift out of the conversation simultaneously. This meant that Harry, who had only been participating through nods and various thoughtful noises up to this point, was suddenly the only person paying any attention at all.

He looked back and forth between them, confused. Anthony was staring aimlessly out a window, and his mother had taken up an absentminded sort of interest in the upholstery of the armchair next to Harry's.

Good to know where Anthony got his scintillating personality, then.

* * *

The Goldstein's house was in an area that was part-Muggle, part-wizarding, and it was fairly large. Anthony had initially told him that there were only three bedrooms: one for his parents, one for Anthony, and the guest bedroom where Harry would be staying.

Harry soon realized that while this wasn't a lie, it was certainly not accurate. There were, in fact, six rooms that were meant to be bedrooms. The other three rooms had been converted to libraries, and each member of the family had their own.

"My family has been in Ravenclaw for the past four generations on both sides," Anthony told Harry promptly when asked. "Why?"

On the first morning Harry spent at the Goldsteins, he woke to silence. After showering and dressing, he set off in search of the kitchen and found it empty. All the other rooms on the first floor were in the same state. Harry assumed that everyone was still asleep, and settled down in the living room to wait.

After about a half an hour, Anthony's father appeared on the stairs. He was a tall man with dark hair and a book shaped face. Where his nose usually would have been were the words, _Phantasmagoria: The Logic of the Imaginary_. He disappeared into the kitchen, and Harry quickly followed, hoping that maybe food would appear now that someone was awake.

Harry watched, impressed, as Anthony's father made himself a very elaborate sandwich without ever looking up from his book. Unfortunately, this meant he didn't see Harry, and so Harry decided to speak up.

"Erm, excuse me," he said, hopeful. Anthony's father started and nearly dropped his sandwich.

"Oh, yes, Anthony's friend." He looked Harry with curious eyes as he took a bite of his sandwich. "And how are you enjoying our home?"

"It's very nice," Harry said, and decided that perhaps he would have to treat Anthony's parents the way he treated Anthony. Being blunt was key. "I was wondering what I should eat for breakfast."

Anthony's father looked surprised. "Is it breakfast time?" he glanced at a clock on the wall, and his expression switched to one of mild alarm. "Oh, dear, I've gotten the sandwich all wrong. It's meant to be egg before noon. Madeline will not be impressed." He turned to leave the kitchen again, taking a much larger bite out of his sandwich. "Have whatever you want," he told Harry as the door swung shut behind him.

Harry stood alone in the middle of the kitchen. There was no refrigerator. No stove. The Goldsteins did not have house elves. Harry was at a loss. He eventually gave up when a search of the cabinet Mr. Goldstein had procured his sandwich from produced nothing but dishes and cutlery.

"Anthony?" Harry knocked on Anthony's bedroom door, feeling guilty but hungry. "Are you awake?"

After about a minute of silence, Harry poked his head in and found that Anthony's bed was empty. His jaw dropped.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself as he crossed the hall to Anthony's other room. "Hello?" he asked, sticking his head inside and finding Anthony at last, curled up in a chair, reading. Anthony's head came up at Harry's arrival, though his eyes stayed on the book. He did that a lot.

"Good morning," he remarked, turning a page. Harry sighed and walked further into the room, inspecting it. It was a library, of that there was no doubt. Every available surface housed books, and many, many more floated above their heads in lieu of a ceiling, spines facing downward for easy perusal. Presumably Anthony used a summoning charm when he wanted one. "I got quite a few of these after second year," Anthony said, having noticed Harry's attention on the books. "Those basilisk parts went for a good amount. You're up late."

"I've been up for a few hours now," Harry said, sitting down. "I've spent most of the morning searching fruitlessly for food. You?"

"There's fruit in the kitchen," Anthony told him. "It's all in the pantry. The door has a little painting of food on it. You can't miss it."

Harry blinked. "You mean that wall shaped area? With the leaves in the picture?"

"They're not leaves, they're spinach."

Harry gaped at him. "I'm going to go eat," he said finally. "Do you want something?"

Anthony checked his watch. "An egg sandwich, if you don't mind," he said, and went back to his book.

* * *

Harry found out about the Sandwich Rule that day. Everyone had to eat at least once every eight hours, and depending on the time, a certain type of sandwich was required if they were too busy to make real food.

There was very little to eat aside from sandwiches. The Goldsteins were busy people. They did not, as a rule, have sit down meals. There wasn't even a table, though there were a few chairs by one of the countertops. The family sometimes crossed paths in the kitchen, and Madeline apparently had a charm on the door that alerted her if one of them had not been to visit for food in the past twenty-four hours, but otherwise, they rarely saw each other.

"Mum likes to make sure we don't die of forgetfulness," Anthony told Harry one day as they made themselves lunch. Harry had a secret plan to drag Anthony outside afterward, as he had discovered that the Goldsteins actually had quite a bit of land, including a decent sized copse of trees that was the perfect cover for a bit of flying.

"That's good of her," Harry said as he ate his treacle tart sandwich. In the morning, it was required that the sandwich involve some kind of breakfast food, but lunchtime sandwiches could be filled with anything, and Harry had shamelessly taken advantage. "You know what I haven't seen in a while?"

Anthony looked at him curiously. "Hogwarts?" he guessed gamely. "Er, green grass?"

Harry grinned. "The sky," he said, giving Anthony a significant look. "We haven't gone outside once since I got here."

Anthony looked perplexed now. "But that wasn't even a week ago."

"Anthony, I like to go outside more than once a week," Harry said dryly. "In fact, sometimes I do it three, even four times a day. Strange, I know. And I found your broomsticks in the hall closet. Let's go flying."

"I have broomsticks?" Anthony asked, mystified, as Harry tugged him gently upstairs to put on their coats and scarves. "What were you doing in the hall closet?"

"I was bored. I never denied being nosy," Harry said, rolling his eyes and redirecting Anthony when he started to veer absently toward his library. "And your grandmother's ghost told me she bought them for you before she died, and you never used them. What kind of a grandson are you?"

Anthony followed Harry outside with little complaint, and Harry considered that Anthony was a fairly good friend, all things considered. He clearly didn't bother with brooms as a general rule, and Harry spent the first hour teaching him how to control the broom so that he didn't go careening off into the ether, but he was trying, and that was good enough for Harry.

* * *

The time came to take the train back to Hogwarts. Harry showed Pansy the muggle pictures he'd taken with Dudley, and a few of the moving pictures he'd managed to get at Anthony's, when they actually left the house. She shuddered, looked properly alarmed at the muggle pictures, told Harry he was mad, and pushed the pictures over to Draco with a moue of distaste.

Draco flipped through them and laughed at several. "Tell me that snowman fell on you," he begged, grinning up at Harry. "Tell me he took the picture and it collapsed a second later, and that they had to mount a rescue mission."

"Don't you think Dudley would have taken pictures of that, too?" Harry asked, laughing. "There wouldn't have been a rescue mission until he'd stood around for half an hour, cataloguing my embarrassment."

Draco sighed. "True. Damn."

They didn't go back to Slytherin until after dinner, and as they were all tired from the trip, they went straight up to the dormitory to get ready for bed. Harry was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and thinking about how nice the ride to Hogwarts had been without all the dementors, when Blaise spoke up.

"Hey, Harry, one of your presents got left here," he said, jerking his chin at Harry's bed as he changed into his pyjamas.

Harry finished brushing his teeth and went to investigate. He pulled his bed curtains open and discovered a long, thin package, just as Blaise had said.

"Who's it from?" Draco asked as Harry opened it. "Harry?"

Harry sat on his bed, jaw on the floor, staring dazedly at the Firebolt.

Draco glanced over, frowning, and dropped the slippers he was holding. "Merlin," he breathed, dropping to his knees next to Harry's bed. Harry dimly noted that he looked like he was about to say his bedtime prayers. The analogy seemed relevant, as Harry was perfectly willing to worship this beautiful broom.

They both stared in awe for a few silent moments. "Who sent it?" Draco finally asked in hushed tones. Harry shook his head and pulled his eyes away from the Firebolt to check the wrappings. Professional Quidditch players could only _dream _of having a broom like this, that was how _new_ and _amazing_ and _obnoxiously expensive _it was. Draco may have talked his father down from buying the whole Slytherin team Firebolts, but Harry didn't doubt that his father had been secretly relieved. Seven of these would put a serious dent in even the Malfoy vaults.

Blaise leaned against Harry's bedpost to see what all the fuss was about. He raised his eyebrow at the broom, clearly impressed. "Who sent it, then?" he asked, repeating Draco's question.

Harry shook himself and looked down at the wrappings, finally registering that there was no note.

"Anonymous fan?" he asked, giving Blaise a winning smile. Blaise's face darkened alarmingly.

"Anonymous enemy seems more realistic," he said. Harry had hoped he wouldn't go there. "Anonymous Sirius Black, maybe."

Draco's face fell, and he finally looked away from the broom. "You don't think-"

"He does," Harry said. He was pouting and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop. Blaise shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said, and to his credit, he did sound sorry. "At the very least, we should tell Professor Snape about this. If there's any way that you can keep the broom, he'll find it."

Harry's shoulders were slumped, but he nodded. "I hate you," he told Blaise, staring longingly at the Firebolt. Blaise grinned.

"I know. I'm a vile bastard."

* * *

Harry brought his new broom to Snape's office the next morning. He was supposed to go anyway, to discuss their arrangement. Draco tagged along as moral support.

"It'll be a crime if you don't get it back," he said, petting the handle every now and again. Harry would have questioned whether Draco remembered he was there, if not for the fact that Draco was actually speaking to him.

Snape answered the door of his office, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Draco at Harry's side, saying goodbye to the broom.

"I'll miss you," he said as Harry stepped past Snape and into the office. Harry didn't have any delusions that Draco was actually talking to him.

"I got this for Christmas," Harry explained before Snape could ask. "It didn't come to my house. I found it on my bed when we got back last night, and there was no note."

Snape's eyes narrowed immediately. "You suspect Black?" Harry nodded unwillingly. Snape took the broom from him and examined it carefully. "I will check the broom for tampering," he told Harry. "You will have it back in top condition in three weeks."

Harry grinned. That gave him enough time to get used to it before the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match. "Thank you, sir," he said emphatically. Snape placed the broom carefully on his desk and indicated that Harry sit.

"You wish to learn duelling and nonverbal spells."

"Yes, sir." The idea of being able to jinx Draco and blame it on Blaise was too perfect to pass up. Also, it was a useful skill. Right.

Snape looked at Harry for a long moment. Harry tried not to break eye contact. A flicker of something passed over Snape's face, and he nodded.

"Very well. We will begin with duelling." Snape handed Harry a timesheet very similar to the one he had received at the beginning of the year. "We will meet directly after Potions on Thursdays and on Mondays at six o'clock." Harry nodded, looking forward to Thursday.

"Yes, sir."

_

* * *

  
_


	33. The Creature

Filch had asked Harry to take care of the seventh floor today. He was enjoying making the Gryffindors suspicious while he nonchalantly polished the portrait frames near the entrance to their Tower. A few came out and asked him what he was doing. They didn't believe him when he told them he was cleaning.

This was probably because of the whistling. No innocent Slytherin had ever whistled innocently, and they certainly didn't stop and lean in slightly when a Gryffindor was about to say the password to the Tower.

There were perks to working for Filch, and fun like this was one of them. Harry eventually moved to another part of the floor when Ron and Dudley showed up. Ron's ears turned red; a sure sign of danger, and Dudley gave Harry a suspicious glare. Harry had been on Dudley's good side at Hogwarts for the most part, but despite Hermione's managing of him and despite his lack of practice, Harry didn't doubt that Dudley could still throw a good punch. Defending the fortress was just the sort of excuse he could get away with, too.

Harry wasn't using many cleaning spells today. They were all well and good, usually, but sometimes you just had to scrub something clean, and when Filch always seemed more cheerful when he realised Harry had been cleaning by hand. A few of the frames on this floor looked like they hadn't been touched in years, and Harry had nothing better to do anyway, aside from homework.

According to Filch, there were broom closets on each floor filled to the brim with cleaning supplies, and apparently one of the closets on this floor had a powerful replenishing charm on it, if Harry could only find it. Filch had said it was near the troll-ballet tapestry, but Harry hadn't seen a closet, and he'd been through the hall several times.

Oh wait. There it was.

* * *

"_He smells like death._"

"What is it saying?"

"Er, hang on. _He won't hurt you, I promise._"

"_Of course he won't hurt me. I will bite him if he comes near me._"

"_That's really not necessary. I think-_"

"Potter. What is the snake saying?" Snape glared between Harry and the snake. Snape had ordered it on Harry's advice, but it didn't want to cooperate. "In order for learning to occur, you must first translate."

Harry nodded, exasperated. "I know, but. Well. He doesn't like you." Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged. "He says you smell like death."

Harry had spent hours with Anthony, putting together some kind of lesson plan for Snape, and the snake was ruining it all by being uncooperative. The spell Anthony gave him that actually allowed humans to speak languages not suited to their vocal cords (similar to an all purpose translation spell in that it didn't matter what you were trying to speak as long as you knew) was nonverbal and long. Harry was mildly jealous that Anthony already knew a few nonverbal spells, and questioned him extensively about it. He had not been able to perform the spell himself, but he had no doubt of Snape's abilities. If only they could get that far.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, lips pressed tightly together, and raised his wand to cast a purifying charm over his person. "Is that better?" he asked the snake. Harry translated.

"_He no longer smells,_" the snake confirmed. Harry nodded to Snape, relieved. "_That does not mean that he did not already smell like death. I do not trust him._"

Harry sighed. "Maybe we should switch Parseltongue to Monday, so that you don't smell like Potions ingredients while you talk to him."

* * *

"Potter! How many times must I tell you to cease flinging yourself about my office?"

Harry pulled himself to his feet, panting. He had jumped out of the way of a curse, and despite Snape's admonition, it was a difficult curse to avoid and he was proud of himself for evading it. Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry's unapologetic demeanour.

"_Impedimentia_," he cast, and when Harry dodged out of the way, "_Glacialis solum_."

Harry slipped on the newly formed ice and fell flat on his back with a yelp. Snape stood over him, eyes gleaming.

"Desist flinging yourself about my office," he enunciated, and then he showed Harry the summoning charm and conjured up several rocks for Harry to practice blocking with.

* * *

The mail order snake was gone; in his place a cobra eyed Harry suspiciously. Harry eyed it right back.

"Where did the other snake go?"

Snape ran a hand down the polished scales of his new cobra. "It tried to bite me." He looked up at Harry, dark eyes narrowed with darker amusement. "The hospital wing has a fresh batch of boil ointment and bruise salve."

Harry blinked several times and tried not to feel horrified at the thought of a snake he'd spoken to just last week being chopped up for potions ingredients. "Erm, right," he said. "Let me just explain to this one what we're trying to do, then."

"_Hello,_" he hissed. The snake shifted slightly.

"_Good evening,_" she answered. "_Do you want something?_"

"_Yes_," Harry told her. "_I'd like you to help me teach the dark man your language._"

The cobra blinked lazily at Snape. "_Inform him that I will agree if he tells me what it is he was feeding me earlier._"

Harry paused. "What were you feeding her earlier?" he asked. Snape had been watching them intently, and stood, reaching for the shelf behind him. "Chopped goat spleen," he said, showing the snake the jar he'd selected. Harry grimaced slightly and translated this.

"She says to keep them coming," he said, and tried very hard to keep his dinner down when Snape opened the jar and selected another piece.

"First lesson," Harry said, covering his nose surreptitiously. "Food. It's rather important. Repeat after me..."

* * *

Harry's new Firebolt was waiting for him at his third duelling lesson with Snape.

"It's alright, then?" he asked, examining it with excitement. It looked as good as it had when he first unwrapped it.

"We found no sabotage," Snape said, watching him run awed hands over the broom. "After much discussion with the staff, it was decided that you must have a very good friend somewhere. I would suggest you keep an eye out for possible admirers with the gold to fund such a gift. It does not do to be unaware of your benefactors."

Harry nodded, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the curse that came flying his way a second later. He parried the attack and glared at Snape with all his might.

"You must be prepared to protect more than yourself," said Snape ruthlessly as he continued his attempt to inflict damage on Harry's new broom. "Keep in mind the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match that approaches. Mine will not be the only displeasure you will face if you allow that broom to come to harm."

* * *

Fortunately, Harry held his own against Snape, the git, and the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match went off without a hitch. The other seeker, a girl named Cho Chang, didn't quite know how to deal with Harry on a Firebolt. They won by a landslide.

January faded into February, which faded into March. As the weather got warmer, students celebrated the absence of the chill from both dementors and snow by going outside more often. Harry and Hermione were no different, as Harry had convinced her to visit Hagrid with him. Draco, who had been Harry's first choice, had seemed leery of the idea when Harry asked.

"Are you insane?" he had said. "Do _I_ look insane? Now go away. I have a very important Charms essay due tomorrow."

He had been playing Exploding Snap with Blaise at the time. Harry had taken the hint. He'd been meaning to talk to Hermione lately, anyway.

"You look exhausted," he commented as they strolled past the Quidditch pitch. Bright yellow dots zoomed around above their heads and Hermione rubbed at her eyes distractedly.

"I'm alright," she said. "I just need to get back into the swing of things again. Christmas threw me off."

Harry watched her with worry. "Hermione, we've been back at school for months. How many of you are there right now, anyway?"

"Just the one," she said, giving him a faint smile. "I really only use it for classes. Otherwise I'd be sixteen before fourth year."

Harry cocked his head, curious. "How old are you now, anyway?"

She bit her lip, apparently doing complicated maths in her head.

"Not much older," she said after a moment. "Maybe a few weeks by now. Like I said, I only use it for classes, and that's only a few hours a day, and then only on weekdays."

"Huh," Harry said, and they walked in silence for a few moments. "In that case, maybe you should add an extra hour a day. You know, for a nap."

Hermione looked at him askance. "I couldn't do that! I don't have it so I can skive off and nap!"

Harry shrugged. If he was talking to Pansy, Harry could say a few choice words about her new stress lines (saying the word 'wrinkles' would have Pansy throwing him off the Astronomy Tower for real, never mind that she was only thirteen) and all would be well. But then, Hermione wasn't as girly as Pansy.

He would try anyway.

"The stress is aging you more than the time is," he said, indicating the bags under her eyes. "You don't have it to drive you into an early grave, either. A nap every now and again wouldn't hurt."

Hermione sighed. They had reached Hagrid's hut now, and were standing in front of his door, talking. "I suppose you might be right," she said, reluctance in her every movement. Harry grinned. It wasn't often that he heard those words coming from Hermione Granger. This moment was a thing to savour.

* * *

Harry and his friends were relaxing in the common room one night when it happened. Blaise's head jerked up and they stared at each other for a moment.

"The alarms," Harry breathed, and dashed up to his room in an instant, Blaise directly behind him. They pulled out the Map and Harry tapped his wand against it.

"Sirius Black," he said. He and Anthony had taken some time to look over the Map that Christmas, and had discovered a feature that allowed you to locate someone by simply telling the Map who you were looking for. It was incredibly useful, especially in situations like these.

Except when it didn't work.

"Sirius Black," he repeated with more force, looking down at the Map expectantly. Nothing happened.

"Never mind that, Harry, he may have a way to block it," Blaise said. "We know where he should be, anyway." They located the statue of the hump-backed witch, but Sirius Black was nowhere in sight. The alarms had been tripped accidentally before, usually by the Weasley twins, but Harry had not seen this name since the last Black break in.

_Peter Pettigrew_.

"We have to-"

"Get Snape." Blaise said firmly. They had a short staring contest, but standing there uselessly made Harry feel like there were centipedes crawling up his spine. He gave in almost immediately.

"Yes, alright, fine," Harry said from between gritted teeth. "But we're not telling him about the Map."

"The alarms and your snake will do just fine," Blaise said, sweeping out of the room. Harry followed quickly, ignoring Draco and Pansy's questions as they passed through the common room. They could be filled in later. Right now, time was of the essence, lest Pettigrew get away.

* * *

"If you have dragged me from my work," Snape warned, his entire manner foreboding as they made their way toward the third floor. "If you have dragged me all the way up here only to find some idiotic student caught in your traps, there will be dire punishment. Do you understand, Mr. Potter? Mr. Zabini?"

They both nodded and Harry hoped with all his might that Pettigrew had not already escaped. He'd brought his snake with him to corroborate the story, and as they neared the corridor where the statue stood, Harry hissed a question to her.

"_Is he still there?_"

"_The creature has not left,_" she confirmed. She had called Pettigrew 'the creature' every time Harry asked so far.

They reached a bend in the corridor very near the statue, and Snape stopped them. "Wait here," he demanded, and pulled out his wand as he stepped around the corner.

Naturally, Harry and Blaise poked their heads around to watch behind his back.

The struggling figure froze when Snape appeared, only to begin struggling all the more fiercely a second later. Snape had frozen as well, his wand faltering for just a moment.

It was a moment too long. Pettigrew's struggles were born of more than just fear. There was a wand on the floor near his hands, and when he finally managed to grasp it, he vanished almost immediately.

Harry clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from shouting. Pettigrew transformed into a rat and took off down the corridor, dodging Snape's snarled curses and managing to escape through a crack in the wall.

Snape was even less pleased with this development than Harry was. He swore fiercely, turning on his heel and marching down the hall. Blaise made eye contact with Harry, eyes wide, and they hurried to keep up with him. Snape continued swearing with virulent anger all the way to what turned out to be Professor Lupin's office.

His banging brought Lupin out into the corridor in moments, and Snape marched right past him, where he stood in the middle of the office with an expression so ugly that Harry was surprised when Lupin allowed them entrance as well.

"Peter Pettigrew was a rat animagus," he spat, once Lupin had closed the door and given Snape his full, alarmed attention. This pronouncement caused yet more alarm on Lupin's features, and he nodded.

"Yes," he said, brow furrowed. "What has happened, Severus?"

"He's not dead," Snape snarled. "You don't seem particularly surprised. Perhaps we should discuss the situation further with the Headmaster."

Despite what Snape claimed, as far as Harry was concerned, Lupin looked like he was about to pass out from shock.

"Not...not dead?" he repeated faintly as Snape crossed the room and held open the door expectantly. "What...how? How do you know?"

"I saw him," Snape said coldly, still waiting for Lupin to move. "Next to the statue of the hump-backed witch. A secret passage, as I'm certain you're aware? I suggest we find out what Albus thinks of this situation."

He held the door open wider for Lupin, who finally moved. Harry and Blaise followed. Harry, at least, was determined to be involved until he was told to go away.

The shock wore off on the way to Dumbledore's office, and something finally occurred to Harry. "_The creature lives in the dormitory I had you investigate, doesn't it?_" he asked his snake. The snake responded in the affirmative, and Snape paused in giving the password to Dumbledore's office.

"What did you just ask it?" he inquired, watching Harry with angry eyes. Harry was aware that Snape wasn't angry at him, but it was still intimidating to be under that stare. He answered quickly. "Pettigrew has been living with the Weasleys. He was Ron's pet rat. He's been living in Ron's dorm; my snake recognised the scent."

Lupin made a horrified sound, muffled by his hand.

"Liquorice wands," Snape said, ignoring Lupin. The gargoyle sprang aside and they soon arrived in Dumbledore's office.

Snape explained the situation to a grave Dumbledore, and Lupin listened with horror. Harry felt incredibly bad for him, especially when Snape suggested that all three of the old Marauders were conspiring together, and Lupin was the inside man. It was this accusation that finally spurred Lupin out of his silence.

"That's absurd," he snapped, and then proceeded to ignore Snape entirely. "Professor Dumbledore," he said. "If Peter is still alive, that sheds doubt on Sirius' guilt."

Harry noted that this was the first time he'd ever heard Lupin refer to his old friend as anything but 'Black'. Dumbledore's nod was sombre.

"That is something to consider," he agreed. "And you were aware, Remus, of Peter's animagus form?"

Lupin looked down at his feet, shamed. Harry found it fascinating that Dumbledore could cause that reaction in people that caused the same reaction in Harry. The headmaster clearly was not to be trifled with.

"They were all animagi," Lupin admitted. "Peter was a rat, James was a stag, and Sirius was a dog."

Harry knew Lupin had said something important after 'James was a stag', but he didn't care. He was too busy imagining his father as a _stag_. Pettigrew was clearly Wormtail, and James couldn't have been Padfoot as a stag. Which meant Harry's father must have been Prongs.

"How interesting that you have kept this pertinent information to yourself this entire time, Lupin," Snape said dangerously. "Had someone known of Pettigrew's form, never mind _Black's_, perhaps he would have been caught much sooner than this, don't you agree?"

Dumbledore held up a hand. Snape paused in his accusations and waited as Dumbledore considered Harry and Blaise. "Before we continue this conversation, I must ask," he said. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Zabini. Why is it that you felt the need to lay traps around that particular statue?"

"We..." Harry said, flustered at the unexpected question and trying to hide it. He did _not_ want to give away the existence of the Map. "We knew Black had broken in, and we knew Filch wasn't aware of that particular passage. He was watching everywhere else."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Far be it from you to inform Filch of a secret passage," he said, sounding amused. "I will speak to Mr. Weasley in the morning. In the meantime, why don't you boys head back to your common room? Curfew is nearly upon us."

And with that, Harry and Blaise were ushered unceremoniously out of the office.


	34. The Rationality

The next morning, Snape called Harry into his office. "The time has come for direct action," he told Harry, who was still half asleep. He and Blaise spent most of the night before explaining what happened to Draco and Pansy, who were miffed that they had been left in the common room during all the excitement. Well, Draco was miffed, anyway.

Harry managed to rouse himself at this declaration, and eyed Snape inquisitively. "Sir?"

"Dumbledore has made plans for the apprehension and capture of both Black and Pettigrew," Snape elaborated. "These plans consist mainly of wards around the castle and grounds."

Harry nodded, wondering why he was being told all this. Snape wasn't usually this forthcoming without a reason. Sure enough, Snape's next words gave Harry a clue.

"That is not enough," he said. "Your snake has a scent memory of both Black and Pettigrew. Mine has the ability to fell both of them without damaging their ability to stand trial."

Harry eyed the cobra resting on the desk next to him.

"Cobras are venomous, sir," he said slowly. This particular cobra had spent an entire Parseltongue session telling Harry exactly how he would die should she choose to bite him. Snape had forced him to translate the whole thing, and in Harry's opinion, enjoyed the entire situation more than was strictly necessary. "I'm pretty sure death will prevent them from standing trial."

"That is where you come in," Snape said. "I have not learned enough of the language to accurately express my thoughts in this situation."

He didn't sound at all pleased, though it certainly wasn't Harry's fault that Snape hadn't picked up Parseltongue as quickly as Anthony. Then a thought struck him.

"Sir? What do you want me to tell her? She can't just, er, 'turn off' her venom."

The look Snape gave him told Harry very clearly that he should close his mouth and stop making a fool of himself. "I have brewed a potion that will temporarily alter the snake's poison so that the only effect will be a targeted paralysis."

"Alright," Harry said. "You want me to ask her to help, and to take the potion?"

Snape gave him a sharp nod, and Harry asked. Unsurprisingly, the cobra did not immediately jump at the chance.

"_I like killing things,_" she said. "_Why would I let you handicap me?_"

"_It would be temporary,_" Harry tried to explain. Snape seemed to have caught a fair amount of what was being said, or at least enough to help.

"_Potion make venom better,_" he tried. Harry looked at him, confused. It very clearly did _not _make the venom better. That was the issue. The cobra seemed similarly affronted. Snape grimaced.

"Stronger," he snapped in English. Harry nodded with comprehension and repeated the word in Parseltongue.

"_Potion make venom stronger,_" Snape hissed, and this time the cobra looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry hoped he was right in what he thought Snape meant.

"_It will make the venom much stronger, and the only difference is that it won't kill your victims,_" he said. Snape was nodding, so Harry assumed that either he'd been right or Snape had misunderstood the Parseltongue. Either way worked for him.

The cobra considered this. "_I could always kill them another way, if they are at my mercy._" She seemed to enjoy the idea. "_I could kill them more slowly, so that they can watch themselves die._"

Snape noticed Harry's disturbed expression and asked for a direct translation. When Harry finished, Snape was smirking and running his fingers along the cobra's scales fondly. Harry tried to ignore the unholy glee emanating from both snake and Snape, and changed the subject.

"_You would be aiming to bite two specific humans,_" he said, and began to explain the situation.

* * *

The _next _next morning, Lupin called Harry into his office. The snakes were already on the hunt, and Harry felt hopeful.

"Harry, I've been thinking, and I feel that you did the right thing," he said. Harry blinked at him, confused. "With the newspaper article," Lupin supplied helpfully.

"Oh." Harry nodded his comprehension. He was glad Lupin had finally forgiven him for that. He'd missed talking to his professor. "Good. Thank you, sir."

Lupin went on. "It was a horrendously stupid thing to do at the time, but it will serve us well now if Sirius turns out to be innocent."

Harry frowned. That added a bit of a sting.

"Dumbledore is taking measures to capture Pettigrew and Sirius," Lupin told Harry, who nodded along, already familiar with the situation. "If they step foot on the grounds, they will be unable to leave."

Harry nodded some more, intrigued. He wondered what kind of wards could manage that. Something to do with animagi?

"That's where you come in," Lupin said, and a wave of deja-vu swept over Harry. "I think I am correct in saying that you have a friendship of sorts with Filch?"

Harry nodded, wondering where Lupin might be going with this. He hoped it wasn't where he thought.

"We need to get the Marauder's Map back," Lupin said, and Harry cursed inside his head. He'd been worried this would be about the Map. "I think you can do it. Professor or no, Filch would never give it back to me."

It sounded like he might have already tried. Harry amused himself with the thought of his professor skulking around Filch's office while Lupin began outlining various strategies that would place Harry inside the office and Filch outside it for an extended period of time. Harry shifted uncomfortably. He should probably say something.

Or he could just keep the Map, and keep an eye on it himself. That's what Draco or Blaise would do. Pansy would have left the office already, having explained that she'd tried and it wasn't there.

But the expression on Lupin's face was so alive. Harry hadn't ever seen his professor this animated. It could have been because of the possibility of his old friend's innocence, or because he was plotting something similar to a Marauder prank, but he seemed happy.

Draco was probably going to push him off his broom for this. Pansy would ensure they were flying at a high altitude when he did it.

"Sir? Er, sir?"

Lupin stopped and looked up at Harry expectantly. Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and said, "I have the Map already."

Lupin stared at him, then smiled widely. "That's fantastic, Harry! Where is it?" He looked at Harry's pockets as though he might have it with him. Harry did, in fact, have it with him, but he wasn't quite ready to give it up. He needed a bit longer. He wasn't sure if he was going to get it back.

"It's in my dormitory," he lied. Lupin beamed at him.

"Perfect," Lupin said. "Meet me in my office after lunch, and bring it with you."

Harry nodded, and Lupin dismissed him. Harry paused when he was far enough away from Lupin's office and kicked himself in the shin.

"Dammit," he muttered, and went to class.

* * *

It was Blaise that reacted the worst to the news. He slapped Harry in the back of the head. Hard.

"Ow!"

"You idiot!" Blaise said. "Now what do you plan to do? We all know you aren't going to let the adults handle this. You've essentially blinded yourself!"

Harry rubbed at his head while Draco and Pansy nodded. He shrugged.

"I know, I'm an idiot. I still have it with me, though. He doesn't want it until after lunch."

"Tell him you lost it," Pansy said immediately. "Tell him Draco stole it."

Draco objected. "Hey! Why can't Blaise have stolen it?"

"Because you're the more believable thief," Pansy informed him. Draco looked to Harry for backup, but Harry could only shrug. She made a good point.

"Why did Draco steal it though?" Blaise asked. Pansy looked thoughtful.

"Harry doesn't actually have to 'know'," she said. "You could just say he borrows it sometimes, even."

"But then he'd want it tomorrow," Draco said, then his eyes landed on Harry. "Wait. This isn't going to work."

Pansy looked at Draco, then at Harry. Her face fell. "Oh. You're right. What was I thinking?"

Harry looked between them, confused. "What? What is it?"

"Harry, you're a terrible liar," Pansy said in gentle tone. "Especially with something as elaborate as this."

Harry was offended. "I spent months lying to you all about my job with Filch!" he said indignantly. "Not one of you knew what was going on."

Draco snickered. "Yes, but it was clear as day that you were lying. We just didn't know what about. I mean, spells that require lemons? Really?"

"That's still a classic," Blaise said, chuckling. "I thought it would get old after a while, but it's been years and it's still hilarious."

"No, no, no. 'I'm completely unaware of my family fortune and so I'm working for the squib caretaker' was ten times better," Draco said, grinning madly at Harry, who was not nearly so amused.

Harry glared ineffectively as they sniggered. Pansy at least had her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt at hiding her laughter.

Harry huffed. "Fine," he said. "I won't lie. Since apparently I'm such a failure at it, I'll just give him the Map."

This did not have the intended effect of sobering them up. "No, no, wait, Harry," Blaise managed to say, still laughing. "You could tell him...tell him that you and Anthony lost it while attempting a mashed potato ritual at lunch."

Harry stormed off in what he hoped was a very impressive huff. He had a feeling they were still laughing at him, though, so maybe not.

* * *

After he very reluctantly gave the Map to Lupin and finished his classes for the day, Harry decided to get back at his friends by associating only with Gryffindors until curfew.

"Hey Neville, hey Ron," he said, joining them on the grass by the Quidditch pitch. He was met with twin glares.

"What?" he asked, eyes wide. He looked up at the sky and saw red-clad flyers. "Oh wait, the team is practicing, right?"

They nodded, still suspicious. Harry thought he would wait a while before cleaning the seventh floor again. "We already played your team for the year. I'm not going to learn anything for the game against Hufflepuff by sitting here, talking to you."

After a moment to think on this, Neville nodded and Ron shrugged.

"What's new?" Neville asked as Harry relaxed.

"Slytherins are gits," Harry said darkly. "Though I suppose that's not exactly new." Ron brightened and slapped him on the back.

"And don't you forget it," he grinned. Harry assumed Ron was joking. Either way, no Gryffindor insulted Slytherin and got away with it. It was practically a bylaw of the House. Harry felt obligated to respond.

"So how does it feel to know your pet rat of twelve years is a thirty something, fat, balding guy who used to be friends with my dad?" Harry asked. Ron grimaced.

"Do you really have to put it like that?" he asked plaintively. Harry shrugged.

"How else should I put it?" he asked.

"Well," Neville said, "Up in the Tower, we've all been restricted to saying that Scabbers is living in the giant rat-hole in the sky."

Harry started to say something, but Ron interrupted him with a stubborn set to his face.

"He's dead, and that's it."

"You carried him around in your pocket everywhere," Harry reminisced.

Ron shuddered. "Slytherin git."

Harry grinned. "He slept in your bed, didn't he?"

Ron seemed to be reaching his breaking point, so Harry let it drop with one last snicker, and they fell into a somewhat amiable silence.

"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense," he said suddenly. "He was always trying to get to Pettigrew. He wasn't after me at all."

"Huh," Neville said. A beetle buzzed past his nose and he swatted at it.

"I hope the snakes catch them soon," Harry said thoughtfully. Neville and Ron seemed mildly alarmed by this statement, but remained silent.

* * *

The snakes came back regularly to tell Harry and Snape that they'd found nothing. Snape suggested that they search the outskirts of Hogsmede more thoroughly.

Harry's duelling lessons were going well, to the point that Snape had decided to finally incorporate nonverbal spells.

"Focus is key," Snape told him after a particularly frustrating lesson. "The purpose of saying a spell aloud is to narrow your focus. Nonverbal casting has nothing to do with your skill level and everything to do with your ability to _concentrate_."

This did not reassure Harry, who had been continually distracted lately. Black and Pettigrew were only the beginning of the list. Quidditch was taking up more of his time than was healthy, and despite requiring upward of twenty hours a week on a broom, Flint still managed to find time to yell at Harry for the detentions he accumulated because he hadn't finished his homework. Draco, whom Harry hated for managing to turn in most of his homework on time without Hermione's help, said that Flint was breaking under the pressure of his final Quidditch match.

"He's not likely to have to repeat again," Draco explained. "He doesn't want to leave Hogwarts having lost his final match. The scouts are watching."

April arrived, and it turned out that Hufflepuff had also been practising hard. While Slytherin still won, it was close, and Harry was relieved enough that he let all the death threats Flint had made before the game slide. Draco spent the next few weeks spitting mad at Warrington, though, who hadn't noticed a bludger that nearly took Draco's head off.

One night at dinner, Harry thought he heard a faint hissing sound. He looked around and spotted Anthony rising from his seat at the Ravenclaw table. Harry stood and jogged over to Anthony as he bent down and retrieved Harry's snake from the floor. He could tell she was agitated by the way she twisted and coiled in Anthony's palm. Her hissing was audible all the way up to the staff table, and Snape had looked up as well, watching them with narrow eyes.

"I don't have the faintest idea what she's saying," Anthony said when Harry arrived. "She's talking way too fast."

Harry took her and hissed at her to calm down and start over.

"_We cornered the creature,_" she hissed. "_And largesnake is fighting it and I tried to help but his magic weakened her and she needs help and-_"

"_Calm down,_" Harry said. "_Where are they?_" She began winding herself around his wrist as he spoke.

"_By the largest birch tree past the tall wall to the east of the water,_" she said, and it took Harry a second to figure out where she meant.

Harry made his way up to the Head table and said, "Pettigrew's just outside the wards, at the east entrance," he said. Dumbledore, Snape and Lupin stood as one.

"Stay here," Dumbledore commanded as Harry made a move to follow them. Harry stood by the head table as the three professors swept out of the Hall. Anthony stood next to him, waiting. Once they heard the doors in the Entrance Hall slam shut, they walked calmly out of the Great Hall, then ran for the dungeons.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, having followed when Harry left dinner. Blaise and Pansy were with him.

"We're going," Harry said calmly. "Pettigrew is outside the wards."

Pansy stepped directly into Harry's path. Her face was a mask of incredulity. "You're not serious."

"I'm bringing the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said. Her expression did not change, and when Harry tried to step around her, she only moved to block his path again.

"That's funny, Harry," she said. There was a warning in her words. "Really, very clever. Let's go back and eat dinner now."

"They're outside the wards," Harry said, staring her down. "We'll be inside. Perfectly safe."

Pansy's mouth tightened. "Draco agrees with me, don't you Draco? Harry's being irrational."

Draco's eyes widened. "Er." Harry stared him down. "Erm, I... Well." He backed slowly away from the proceedings as he fumbled for words. Harry gave him up as a lost cause.

Anthony spoke up. "I won't let him do anything stupid, Pansy."

Harry was offended, but Pansy spoke before he could say anything.

"Well there's a relief!" Sarcasm dripped from every word. "In that case, carry on, the insane fucking Ravenclaw will take care of things."

"Pansy!"

At this most unfortunate point, Hermione showed up.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Did they find Black or Pettigrew?"

She faltered at the heated glares Harry and Pansy were exchanging. Blaise stepped up next to her and took her arm.

"I suggest we stay out of this," he instructed, stepping backward with Hermione in tow. Harry spared them a glance and went back to being furious at Pansy.

"I'm going," he said coldly. "I'm going to be careful. But I need to see this happen."

"You just need to be involved," Pansy retorted. "There doesn't always need to be an adventure, Harry. Snape _and_ Dumbledore _and _Lupin are all out there. They can handle it alone."

Harry gritted his teeth, and glanced at Hermione and Blaise again, who were watching with worry.

"Fine," he snapped. Pansy blinked. "Fine. Let's go have dinner."

It seemed that no one had expected that. Pansy recovered from her surprise and narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine," she said. "Let's."

* * *

"Hermione, I need to borrow your Time Turner."

Dinner was over, and Harry had managed to distract Pansy sufficiently to escape. He sought out Hermione, who had left at the same time, and made his proposal.

Hermione pursed her lips at him impatiently. "Give me one - no, two good reasons why I should abuse the trust of the faculty and the use of a highly controlled magical device for you."

Harry stared at her, thinking hard. Dinner had given him time to pause and let the adrenaline run its course, and now the absolute necessity that had driven him earlier was ebbing. He had reasons. He was just beginning to doubt they'd be good enough for Hermione's tastes.

"Oh good, you're still in the castle." And Blaise was here now, how wonderful. "Pansy said she'd castrate me if I let you get away. Draco wanted to come, but Pansy was worried he'd help you club me over the head and escape."

Harry spared him an irritated glare, though he was glad that Draco, at least, was still on his side, and turned back to Hermione, who was waiting patiently for an answer.

"Pettigrew is right outside the wards," Harry said finally. "He's the key to this whole thing. I've been caught up in this all year, and I just want to _know._"

Hermione watched him for a moment, and when he didn't say anything, she prompted him. "And reason number two?"

There was a look in Hermione's eyes that scared Harry a little bit. She usually only got that look before she spent an hour lecturing Ron and Dudley about taking proper care of library books. Madam Pince never scolded her for raising her voice in the library during those rants. Harry's hopes screamed and flailed as they died tiny, painful deaths.

"You're not going to let me, are you?" Harry asked, defeated. Hermione shook her head.

"Do I need to tell you why?"

"No," Harry sighed, looking down at the floor.

"It would be a dangerous, stupid, pointless thing to do," Hermione elaborated, just in case. Harry nodded.

"You're right, I guess." He didn't know what he'd been thinking. Hermione didn't even want to use the Time Turner for _naps._ He should have just gotten his Invisibility Cloak and hoped for the best. There was no hope for that now, though, what with Blaise standing by. Hermione nodded at them both and continued up the stairs.

Blaise had a curious expression on his face that Harry decided to ignore as they walked downstairs.

"Did she catch you on your way out or something?"

Harry shrugged. Blaise looked thoughtful.

"Interesting how you were nowhere near the front doors."

"Interesting how you don't know how to shut your mouth," Harry muttered. Blaise grinned at him.

"I know she's a Gryffindor, Harry," Blaise said, amused. "But that doesn't make her good at adventure."

Harry just shrugged again, frowning, despite being pleased that Blaise found his own conclusion. Harry might not be good at lying, but he was fine at helping others lie to themselves.


	35. The Drive

Harry and Blaise waited in the Entrance Hall for a bit before Snape, Dumbledore, and Lupin returned. Snape held the cobra in one hand and a small black container in the other. The cobra was limp, but Snape looked grimly satisfied. Lupin was cradling his arm, the expression on his face eerily similar to Snape's, and Dumbledore led the way. His expression was also grim, but any satisfaction he might have been feeling was not in his face.

Harry caught Snape's eye, who held up first the snake, then the container. Harry nodded. Lupin smiled encouragingly at Harry, so Harry smiled back. Now that he was certain of their success, Harry had plans to stake out Snape's office for more details. Blaise followed Harry down the stairs into the dungeons, and didn't look surprised at their destination.

"_She's dead._" Harry looked down at his snake when she spoke, and nodded.

"_She is. I'm sorry._"

The snake twined between Harry's fingers a few times before settling at his wrist again.

"_She wanted to eat me. If we didn't have time to hunt._" Harry blinked, surprised.

"_She wanted to eat me, too,_" he said. "_She was bloodthirsty._"

"_She was._" Her tone was pensive, almost sad. "_I will miss her._"

Harry hissed his agreement. He was somewhat worried about what Snape would replace her with.

Blaise sat silently while Harry and his snake discussed the cobra, and when they were done, Harry translated.

"So wait, she's upset?" Blaise asked again. He was having difficulty with the idea of Harry and his snake mourning someone who wanted to digest them.

Harry nodded.

"And you're upset."

Harry nodded again. Blaise shook his head.

"Is this to do with that 'snake culture' thing you're always talking about with Anthony?"

Harry nodded solemnly. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough."

Snape arrived, finally, and sent Blaise away. He waved Harry into his office and they sat down at the desk.

"My snake gives her condolences," Harry said. Snape nodded once. "I assume you caught him?"

"We did." There was a gleam of vicious gratification in Snape's eyes now. "He begged. The Aurors have him now, along with our statements, more's the pity."

Harry suppressed a smile. "What about Black, then?"

Snape grimaced. "If they ever find him he'll have a trial, after Pettigrew's."

Harry nodded. He wasn't likely to get a play by play account of what happened from Snape. On the other hand, it was Monday, and they'd missed their meeting because of Pettigrew's capture. Snape seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He pointed his wand at Harry deliberately, giving him barely enough time to jump from his seat as he cast the first spell. Harry focussed on not moving his lips as he breathed the words to the counter. It failed and he dove out of the way, much to Snape's displeasure.

* * *

The capture of Peter Pettigrew made the papers the next day. Rita Skeeter published what Lupin said was an eerily accurate description of the events following their exit from the castle.

"She didn't interview any of us, that I'm aware of," he told Harry, before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Harry."

Harry blinked innocently at him, and took another bite of chocolate. He really hadn't done anything this time. "Yes sir?"

"You've talked to this reporter before. Did you follow us after Dumbledore specifically told you not to?"

Harry denied this with a straight face, and paid close attention to how the expression felt. He was determined to lie convincingly at Pansy, Blaise, and Draco, and the first step was being aware of how his face acted when he was being truthful, so that he might replicate it when he wasn't.

Lupin eyed him for a moment, and seemed to find him innocent. His face lapsed back into thoughtful curiosity.

Harry picked the newspaper up from the desk and looked through the article again. He'd read it at breakfast, but he wanted to look through it again with Lupin's guarantee that it was practically all true in mind.

Pettigrew had kept the cobra at bay with the wand that he'd stolen from a house in Hogsmede, though the cobra fought hard. Harry felt proud of her. According to the article, the fight hadn't lasted long after Dumbledore arrived, though Lupin was wounded when his attempt to talk to Pettigrew backfired. What took so long was Snape's successful attempts to turn Pettigrew into a sniveling lump of guilty, terrified rat. According to Skeeter, Pettigrew had been crying and confessing to anything Snape asked him by the end of it. Harry felt vaguely proud of Snape, though Skeeter's portrayal of him wasn't exactly kind.

Harry left Lupin's office after a while, and headed for the library. In a bizarre twist, Hermione wasn't there. Anthony and Luna were, though, so Harry sat down and said hello.

"You were right, Luna," Harry said, then paused. "Well, probably not about the Stubby Boardman thing, but about there being more to it than we thought."

Luna smiled at him. "Thank you, Harry. You could ask him, you know."

Harry blinked. "Ask him?"

"When you meet him. If he's Stubby Boardman."

"Oh." Harry considered this. Meeting Sirius Black had been a very vague notion up to this point, though it was a distinct possibility. "I suppose I could. Alright." Harry grinned at her. "I'll owl you when I find out."

Luna nodded in her absentminded way and went back to the magazine she'd been looking at. Harry glanced at it and saw runes. Anthony had barely nodded when Harry arrived, so Harry assumed he wasn't going to get any conversation from that quarter.

"What's that?"

There was a pause. Harry waited for an awkward minute before repeating his question. Luna finally looked up at him, and her already protuberant eyes widened.

"They're rebus puzzles," she said. Harry frowned at the page. He had heard of rebuses, but he'd never seen them in rune form.

"I'm taking Ancient Runes," Harry said. "Can I try too?"

Luna didn't respond, but she did shift the magazine so that Harry could see more clearly. She had a thoughtful frown on her face. Harry looked at the first puzzle and wrinkled his forehead.

"The only one of those I recognise is the first one." Harry pointed. Luna blinked and looked at it.

"That's because the second isn't a rune at all, it's a 'not-equal' sign, and the third one is two runes put together."

Harry's mouth fell open very slightly, and he stared some more. "Are they supposed to mean rocky water or something?"

"Close."

Anthony glanced up from his book and looked at the puzzle for about one second. "No man is an island?"

Luna nodded, and Anthony went back to his book, missing Harry's consternation entirely. He looked at the second puzzle, then up at Luna, who was clearly halfway down the page by this point.

"My brain hurts," Harry said. "I'm going to go find something easier to read."

"There's a children's section near the Charms section," Anthony said, smirking behind his book. "I used to wonder why."

Harry rolled his eyes and finished Anthony's sentence. "But now you don't."

"Nope."

* * *

Sirius Black didn't turn up until Pettigrew was sentenced to life in Azkaban. In fact, Harry was reading the article about the trial and eating his breakfast when Dumbledore rose from his seat at the Head table and left the Great Hall. The only reason Harry paid any attention at all was because Lupin followed him.

Exams were coming up soon, and Harry, who had already been ignoring Blaise's attempts to quiz him on his Potions theory, ignored him even more obviously by standing up and following Lupin out of the Hall. He hadn't been asked to stay put this time.

Dumbledore and Lupin were already long gone, and Harry poked his head out the door cautiously. He felt someone pushing at him, and then Draco was there too, peering out the door next to him.

"What're we looking at?" he asked as Dumbledore and Lupin strode across the grass, wands out.

"Not sure," Harry said. "But it's bound to be important."

A large black dog trotted up to them before they got thirty meters from the castle. Draco sucked in a breath.

"Didn't you say Black's animagus form is a dog?"

Harry nodded mutely and watched as the dog whined and rolled over on its stomach. Lupin laughed, and the dog rolled back over and stood on two feet. After a brief moment, a skeletally thin man stood in his place and hugged Lupin.

Dumbledore lowered his wand and spoke to the two men. Harry could see the twinkle in his eyes from where he stood, but whatever he said made Lupin and Black break apart and nod solemnly.

They turned to walk up to the castle, and Harry and Draco ducked back inside and ran back into the Great Hall before they could be caught.

"What's happened?" Blaise asked as they sat down again. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Draco beat him to it.

"Sirius Black was out on the grounds," he said, shrugging. "He's probably already in the castle."

Harry rolled his eyes as several people around them began to look alarmed.

"Dumbledore and Lupin have him," he explained, and Draco grinned at the exasperated look Harry was giving him. "He turned himself in."

"I'm surprised Snape didn't go, too," Pansy remarked, and they all looked up at the Head Table. Snape's expression was sullen.

"He probably got told to stay put," Harry said, grinning. "I like that I'm not the only one."

Snape looked over at the Slytherin table in that moment, and they all busied themselves with their pancakes. It wouldn't do for Snape to see that his students were laughing at him. Slytherin or no, he might kill them all.

* * *

"You're _leaving_."

Harry stood in the door of Lupin's office, having stopped there, startled, when he saw the state of things. Trunks and boxes filled the space; it was obvious what was going on here.

Lupin looked up from a stack of parchment he had been sorting through. "Well, yes," he said apologetically. Harry glared at him.

"Why?"

Lupin sighed and set the parchment down. "It's unlikely that the Wizengamot will do anything _but_ let Sirius off, considering the embarrassment this entire situation has caused for them, and the fact that Pettigrew has already admitted to framing him. I'd like to be there for him. I've already talked to Dumbledore, and he agrees it's for the best."

"But," Harry fumbled for words. "Why do you have to leave?"

Lupin regarded him for a moment. Then he lifted a stack of books out of Harry's usual chair, and started making tea, the teacups and bags being about the only things not in disarray. Harry sat down and accepted his cup when Lupin offered it.

"Sirius has spent the past thirteen years in the presence of dementors," Lupin said after a moment. Harry bowed his head, acknowledging this. "He would kill me if he knew I thought this, but his emotional state is very delicate. He needs a friend, and not one that has other demands on his time."

Harry sighed. Lupin had a point, and Harry couldn't begrudge him time spent with a friend he'd thought gone for so long. Though he sorely wanted to.

"You're the best defense teacher we've ever had."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment to me, or as a dire insult to Dumbledore," Lupin said.

Harry looked up and saw Lupin smiling at him. "I've heard about Lockhart."

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Alright, so it's not as complimentary as it sounds," he agreed. "But it's meant to be."

Lupin nodded and took another sip of his tea. "I'll take it in the spirit it was given, then. Thank you."

Harry looked up at Lupin hopefully. "One more story about my dad?"

Lupin appeared surprised. "Harry, just because I'm no longer your professor, doesn't mean we won't be seeing each other."

Harry blinked, surprised. "What?"

"Sirius has expressed an adamant desire to meet you," Lupin said with a fond smile. "Even your being in Slytherin has not put him off in the slightest - not that it should," he added hastily when Harry began to frown. "I imagine you'll be receiving an owl sometime this summer, after the trial is over and Sirius has settled into the life of a free man."

Harry nodded, remembering the conversation he'd had with Luna on this very subject.

"That sounds great," Harry said. "I want to meet him as well. And I have a few questions for him."

* * *

The term ended a few days later. Harry had been following the papers religiously since Black turned himself in, and things seemed to be going the way Lupin had predicted. The Wizengamot was trying to keep everything very quiet, but Skeeter's article the day after Black's return hadn't allowed for that. She painted him as a Ministry scapegoat, which wasn't entirely inaccurate from Harry's point of view. After that, another reporter covered the trial, the same one that had covered Pettigrew's. It was mostly a formality, though he was charged with being an unregistered animagus, and with breaking out of prison. He was found guilty of both, but his time in Azkaban covered the penalties for both crimes with plenty to spare, so the Wizengamot ended up paying him reparations anyway.

Harry and Dudley spent the car ride home from Kings Cross trying to explain the situation with Sirius Black to Uncle Vernon. It wasn't going very well.

"You have a _convicted felon_ for a godfather," Vernon shouted, nearly crashing into the car in front of him when Harry mentioned that little detail.

"No," Harry said. "He was never convicted. He was framed."

"He spent thirteen years in wizard prison," Dudley added unhelpfully. Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

Uncle Vernon's face was turning purple. Harry remembered that face very well, and decided to spare all their lives and wait until they were out of the moving vehicle before continuing the conversation.

"So how about that Gryffindor Quidditch team," Harry said. "Gee, Dudley, you sure are getting good on a broom."

* * *

The promised letter from Sirius Black didn't arrive for a month. Looking back, Harry felt relieved that he'd been given such a long time to reconcile Vernon to the idea. To be honest, he hadn't reconciled him at all; he'd simply convinced him to stop yelling whenever the subject came up. They finally came to an agreement that, firstly, Sirius was never to step foot on the property, and secondly, that Dudley was never to meet him. Harry later understood this to mean that Uncle Vernon was never to know when Dudley met him. Dudley had very earnestly explained the subtle difference, and Harry didn't really mind as long as his cousin kept his mouth shut.

The letter was written in Lupin's handwriting, which Harry found interesting, as it purported to be from Black. It said things like, _"I know you might not be aware, but I'm your godfather"_, and _"I'm sorry for all the trouble this year"_. It was very generic and formal, even the invitation to come visit, _"…if you wish to speak in person, and I'll understand if you'd like to bring a friend along…" _

Harry felt mildly disappointed until he found a hastily scribbled post script in another handwriting entirely, apologizing for "Remus' boring sense of propriety" and explaining hurriedly that the Firebolt had indeed been a present from Black, who had managed to buy it in his animagus form somehow.

Harry was greatly cheered and wrote back, accepting the invitation and explaining Uncle Vernon's terms. Two days later, Lupin arrived in a clunky old Ford and Harry grabbed his knapsack and ran out the door, thankful that Dudley had taken up soothing Uncle Vernon.

"No, he's not the convict, he's a professor..."

"Hi," Harry said as he climbed into the car, knapsack on his lap. Lupin responded in kind and they drove away. After several minutes of quiet, Harry began to reach awkwardly for conversation points.

"Er, so how's your summer been, sir?"

Lupin glanced at him and quickly back at the road. "It's been fine, Harry. I wish Arthur had explained all these buttons more clearly though."

Harry's eyes widened and he finally noticed how lost Lupin looked in the driver's seat. He flipped a switch experimentally, and the turn signal came on.

"Oh no, does that mean I go left?" He frowned at the dash and turned into what appeared to be an alley. Harry clutched his knapsack closer. They were heading for a dead end.

"Professor?" Harry said uncertainly. "Er, I don't think we were supposed to turn here. You don't usually do what the turn signal tells you to unless you already meant to."

Lupin put on the brake and peered out the windows at the brick walls surrounding them. "No, no. This looks fine."

Harry began to wonder if he should have brought a friend after all, and reached for his wand. Just in case.

Lupin began fiddling with the levers and buttons again, unaware of Harry's movements.

"It's one of these buttons," he said thoughtfully as the boot popped open. "He should have labelled them more clearly…"

He pressed another, slightly larger button, and vanished. Harry jumped in his seat. The whole car had disappeared, including him.

"There," Lupin said, satisfied. "Now which one makes you go up…Oh, bu-darn. I can't see them anymore."

Harry considered getting out of the car. Lupin would hardly notice, and then maybe they both wouldn't die in the flaming wreckage.

Before he could begin to feel around for the handle, though, Lupin made a victorious sound and they began to rise in place. Harry found that simply clutching his knapsack wasn't enough anymore, and instead clutched the seat. It reminded him that he was actually in a car and not just sitting on air.

When they were above the houses around them, Lupin cleared his throat. "Here we go then," he said, and they began to sail over the rooftops. Once Harry was able to accept that they probably weren't going to die, he started to enjoy the view.

They were up in the clouds, now, and Lupin was apparently playing with levers and buttons again. Harry could hear the windscreen wipers go on.

"Is that really necessary, sir?" Harry asked. They couldn't see the windows, after all. What did it matter if they were a bit cloudy?

"What did I do?" Lupin asked, curious.

Harry clutched at his seat again. "Maybe you should just stop touching things. Sir. Er, no offence or anything…"

The windscreen wipers stayed on for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Lupin began to mutter and, Harry feared, fiddle with things again as they descended. They landed in a large field, and Harry let out a breath he only then realised he'd been holding. Flying on a broom under his own power was something entirely apart from what he just experienced. He thought he might take the Knight Bus back to Privet Drive.

"We're somewhere near Exeter," Lupin said as they climbed out of the car. "The Weasleys live nearby. In fact, this is their car. Arthur was good enough to let me borrow it for the day."

Harry nodded as they walked, and waited for a house to appear. Lupin stopped instead by a sapling and took hold of the trunk. Harry followed suit after Lupin glanced at him.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Lupin said, a faint smile on his face, and suddenly a house grew up around them so that they were in a courtyard.

"Sirius insisted on the password." Lupin let go of the sapling and began to walk toward a pair of sliding glass doors. "He also insisted on the house being made mostly of windows."

Harry looked up at the walls around him and realised this was a very accurate description. The only parts of the outer walls that weren't glass were the doorframes. Harry could see straight through one side of the house and out the other, into the field they had just been walking in.

It occurred to him that, had they been visible, Black would have been able to see them coming for miles from almost anywhere in the house. He certainly knew they were there now, given that he had appeared very suddenly in the doorway.

He looked much better than when Harry had seen him last, out on the grounds at Hogwarts. He was still thin, but clean shaven and dressed nicely. He looked less like an escaped convict and more like a recovering invalid.

"Hey, Moony," Black said, and turned to Harry. "It's good to meet you at last, Harry." Black eyed him for a moment, and smiled. "You look exactly like your father, but the eyes are purely Lily's."

Harry grinned at him in spite of himself as they went inside.

"It's good to finally meet you, sir," Harry said. Black looked surprised.

"Don't call me _sir_," he said, glancing at Remus. "He's a sir. For Merlin's sake, call me Sirius."

They all settled down in an area with several sofas scattered around and began talking. From what Harry could see of the house (which was most of the first floor), it looked like Sirius preferred open spaces and lots of light. There were next to no walls, and the only delineations between the rooms were in the form of different types of flooring. Where there were walls, they were offset by incredibly wide doorframes, and ended up looking more like pillars as a result.

Sirius noticed him looking around. "We bought the house and completely redesigned it." His expression was satisfied. "It used to be a huge maze of rooms and walls and next to no windows. You should see the upstairs. In fact," and here his expression turned nervous, "If you wanted, you could pick out one of the upstairs rooms, for when you come visit."

Harry looked around again, then back at Sirius, who was watching him hopefully.

"Aunt Marge is coming to stay in a week, which means I'm going to be avoiding the house anyway," Harry said with a shrug. "So if you don't mind such short notice…"

Sirius was delighted. "Perfect!" he said. "You can even stay for your birthday, if your relatives don't mind. We'll have a party."

Harry laughed a little, stunned. "Uncle Vernon wouldn't mind at all," Harry said. "I normally try to disappear for part of the summer anyway. That sounds great."

"That's an idea," Sirius said, perking up further. "The Quidditch World Cup is in August. You could stay until then and we'll just take you back to Hogwarts. It's brilliant!"

Lupin spoke up at this point, glancing between Harry and Sirius uncertainly. "Now, Sirius, I'm sure Harry wants to spend some time with his family -"

Harry rolled his eyes and interrupted, before the disappointment that was beginning to wash over Sirius' face could take hold.

"Dudley won't mind," Harry said. "That sounds great, if you'll have me."

And it was settled, nearly. Lupin sighed and gave Sirius a significant look, which worried Harry, because Sirius sobered very quickly.

"Harry," Lupin said. "If you're going to be staying here for such an extended period of time, there are certain things you should be aware of, so that you can decide if you're still comfortable with your decision."

Harry nodded. "Okay." Lupin was watching Harry very seriously, and very nervously.

"Once a month, I am not quite myself," Lupin said uncomfortably. Harry nodded again, uncertain as to where he might be going with this. "You may have noticed that I sometimes missed classes. There's a potion that I take, that helps me to keep calm, and there's a basement level in this house that is very securely warded. I want you to understand that there is no danger."

Harry thought Lupin probably expected another nod, so he gave him one. He had suspicions as to what this might be about, but they were incredibly outlandish.

"Remus is always pretty careful," Sirius said encouragingly. "He doesn't let his furry little problem get out of control."

Remus gave him a faint smile, and Harry stared. He was only confirming Harry's second most outlandish theory at this point. It occurred to him that Snape usually had a reason for teaching the lessons he did, and as a substitute for Lupin's class, teaching a lesson on werewolves could only be a giant hint.

But then, Harry could have the wrong idea. This was awkward. And now Sirius and Lupin were both watching him expectantly. Harry figured another nod was in order.

"The potion that Professor Snape brews for me helps me to keep my mind," Lupin elaborated, clearly feeling the awkwardness. "I'm perfectly myself, only not. And Sirius spends that time with me, so you should know you'll be spending certain nights essentially alone in the house."

Harry nodded. Werewolf was looking more and more likely, especially since Professor Snape knew. But he still couldn't _say_ it. What if he was wrong? He wished Lupin would just spit it out.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Harry?" Lupin asked. He was fidgeting with one of his sleeves. Harry very nearly nodded again, before realising that might give them the wrong idea.

"Er, I think so," Harry said. He decided to turn the tables on Lupin, and gave him an expectant look. Lupin was startled, if his expression was anything to go by, and embarrassed. This was far too awkward for words.

"I'm a werewolf," said Lupin.

_Oh thank god_, Harry thought, relieved that it was finally out there. He felt the tension drain out of the room like a plug had been pulled, and gave Lupin a small smile.

"Okay," he said, nodding more casually now. Lupin blinked at him.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yep," Harry said, and Sirius grinned at him. Harry grinned back. "So I was hoping to take the Knight Bus, next time I come here. That shouldn't be a problem, right? No offence, Professor Lupin."

Lupin still looked startled. "None taken, and I'm not your professor anymore," he said. "You don't have any questions?"

Harry shrugged. "You said you were safe, behind wards and using some potion Snape brewed for you. It all sounds safe to me. I assume I'm meant to keep this quiet?"

"Yes, if you could," Lupin said with relief. Harry gave him a reassuring smile. Hopefully Lupin would let him change the subject this time, and put the awkwardness behind them. Harry really didn't care about the werewolf thing, as long as certain precautions were taken. Which they clearly were. Anyway.

"Oh, Sirius, that reminds me," Harry said. "Have you ever heard of Stubby Boardman?"


	36. The Patronus

Harry spent the next week at Privet Drive waiting to leave. Dudley was great, and it was nice that Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hate him anymore, but that was nothing compared to people who actually genuinely wanted Harry. And he would get to spend the whole rest of the summer there. He'd already written to all his friends, telling them the good news. Dudley didn't object only because Harry promised he'd find a way to get Dudley to the Quidditch World Cup without provoking Uncle Vernon's concerns about Sirius.

He even wrote Luna, telling her that he was sorry but Sirius had denied any connection with Stubby Boardman. He had seemed positively delighted by the idea, though, and Harry was happy he asked. He'd only spent a day at Sirius' house, but it was obvious that Lupin was right about Sirius' 'emotional state'. For all that he was thrilled to meet Harry, he would sometimes fall into silences that were hard to snap him out of, and Lupin's methods had a questionable success rate.

It turned out Dudley was actually staying at Privet Drive for Aunt Marge's visit, and Harry wished him luck. Perhaps the sting of Aunt Petunia's leaving was more dull now, or at least Aunt Marge would have stopped talking about it, and Dudley could have an okay visit with his aunt. Harry was just glad he didn't have to be there.

The day of his return to Sirius and Lupin's house arrived, and Harry boarded the Knight Bus with Lupin, excited and grateful that Lupin had given in easily on the subject of the flying car. The Knight Bus was faster, anyway.

* * *

Living with Sirius and Professor Lupin was interesting, to say the least. Lupin told Harry at least twice a day to stop calling him Professor, but Harry couldn't help it. He'd just spent a year being taught by the man and being chastised about _not_ calling him Professor. It was going to take time.

Unexpectedly, the fact that Harry was a Slytherin didn't come up very often. Harry rather thought that Sirius and Lupin were trying to forget about that aspect of Harry. When Sirius asked what colour carpet Harry wanted in his bedroom, he said green, just to see what Sirius would do.

Sirius had paused, glanced at Harry, and seemed to bolster himself with a brisk nod. Harry's carpet was Slytherin green.

Aside from Harry's minor carpet colour rebellion, he tried to be a very agreeable houseguest, mostly because when Harry was being cheerful, Sirius was less likely to fall into one of his silences. According to Lupin, that was the point of this summer. Enough so that Lupin discouraged Harry from asking about his parents, before they even got off the Knight Bus.

"It's not that you can't ask about them," he said, having seen Harry's disgruntlement. "I'd just prefer to be certain he can handle thinking about them first. He's been avoiding the thought of your parents so far, maybe because it's just been the two of us and the memories are more painful than anything else."

Harry didn't like the story embargo one bit. But he understood that this summer was about Sirius, so he kept his mouth shut. Fortunately it wasn't a problem for long; Sirius was already talking about Harry's parents during the in-depth tour of the house.

"And you've seen the dining room," Sirius said, stepping into a section of the house with wood flooring, covered with plush rugs and a dining table. They crossed that section and moved on to the red carpeted area where they'd spent a large amount of time on Harry's last visit. "And the sitting room." There were several comfortable red couches and small cherry tables scattered about the area, and a few of them poked their corners haphazardly onto the nearby kitchen tiles. On the other side, a Gryffindor themed tapestry hung from the back of a bookshelf in the library (more wood flooring). Harry remembered being mildly startled by all the red on his last visit.

"James would have liked this room," Sirius said. "He always did like red."

Harry glanced at Lupin, who was watching Sirius intently. Sirius looked around the room for a moment, his expression blank, and Lupin's features began to take on a hint of worry. Then Sirius looked down at Harry, smiled, and continued as though the pause had never existed. "I think that's one reason he liked your mother so much at first. Her hair. They had such a row when she wanted to cut it short, and they weren't even dating at the time. She was furious, as you might expect, that he thought he could tell her what to do, and he just hated the thought that all her hair might disappear. He went on about it. You'd think she was planning to shave her head."

Harry was almost afraid to respond, as if that might break the spell and force Sirius' face back into a blank mask. "Did she do it?" he asked after a moment. Sirius laughed, short and unfamiliar, and Lupin's face split into a surprised smile.

"Of course she did it," Sirius said. "Your mother was nothing if not stubborn. James sulked for weeks."

After that, Lupin sometimes even instigated stories for Harry.

* * *

Harry usually slept fairly well at Sirius and Lupin's house. He only became aware that he was the only one when they forgot the silencing charms one night, and Harry was jolted awake at three in the morning to the sounds of Sirius' moaning and shouting. He lay in bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling as Sirius began chanting 'No, no no,' and the sound of glass breaking rang out.

There were walls on the second floor, though they were paper thin. Harry had discovered early on that he could make his room bigger by shoving at them and encroaching on Remus or the hallway. Tonight, he could tell exactly when Remus jumped out of bed, because he leaned against their shared wall, and Harry watched it slide toward him, bowed in the center.

Remus lived between Harry and Sirius, which, according to Sirius, had been a brilliant move on Harry's part. The two of them had conspired to shrink Remus' room to the size of a matchbox more than once. Remus had retaliated by placing heavy wardrobes along those walls, and Harry could still remember clearly the look on his face when Harry and Sirius had pushed Sirius' wall hard enough to break past it, so that the wardrobe ended up in Sirius' room with a patch of wall behind it, and repairs were needed. Harry huddled under his blankets and hoped Remus wasn't about to fall through, though fortunately the indent in the wall disappeared a moment later, and a door slammed.

Harry had originally thought that movable walls was a great idea. Now, though, he didn't like the design at all. He could hear the soothing words Lupin spoke as he woke Sirius. He could hear everything, and that was when he realised they were acting out a nightly ritual, that this sort of thing was commonplace. Harry felt like an intruder, and tried to block out the sound of their voices and go back to sleep while wishing the walls were thicker. It took a long time, and as he lay curled on his side with his back to Remus' wall, listening to their voices and trying not to, all he could do was imagine what it must be like to wake up screaming on a nightly basis.

* * *

"Sirius, I've been thinking," Lupin said one day over breakfast. Sirius continued eating with an encouraging nod. "Harry should know how to perform the Patronus Charm."

Harry looked up from his toast, curious. He vaguely remembered Draco's mentioning the Patronus as a way to repel dementors, and recalled asking Lupin about it once. But the dementors were gone. Harry kept his mouth shut and watched Lupin watch Sirius.

Sirius had looked up from his breakfast now as well, a wry sort of smile on his face. "Do you think so?"

Lupin nodded seriously. "The wards on the house should keep the Ministry from noticing, not that they'd bother you again anyway."

They had a short staring contest, which gave Harry time to wrack his brains for what he knew about the Patronus. It required a happy memory to summon and...oh.

Sirius sighed and nodded. "Fine. I suppose I'll be demonstrating?"

Lupin beamed at him. "Repeatedly."

* * *

Harry went walking that day, while Lupin and Sirius worked out the details involved in teaching Harry the charm.

The Weasleys did live nearby. Harry wandered out of the fields and discovered the sister in a tree. She nearly fell out when she saw him.

"Oh, hello," she said, blushing furiously. "I – Ron said you were staying nearby, I didn't realise you were so close."

Harry nodded. "We're over in a field somewhere that way," he said, pointing. He hadn't gone exploring before this, and was only somewhat optimistic about his ability to find the sapling again.

"Oh, right," she said, nodding back. Harry waited for her to say more. She didn't. He considered asking if she knew Luna. The awkward pause that had developed reminded him of her. Luna was very good at awkward pauses, though she never seemed to notice the awkward aspect of things. Unlike Luna, the Weasley sister _did_ notice, and blushed further.

"Er, want to pl – do something?" she asked, watching him hopefully. Harry shrugged and looked around the copse of trees.

"Sure. How far away is your house, anyway?"

She pointed to the east. "It's not far that way. I can see it from here, even."

Harry turned to look, but his view was clearly much more obstructed than hers. He glanced around and swung himself up into a nearby tree, and looked where she had been pointing.

"That's an interesting house," he said after a moment. She stared at him, and he grinned. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

She blushed.

* * *

It turned out that Harry didn't need to find the sapling again. Ron eventually found them after they abandoned the trees and started walking back to the Weasley's house. Harry found the conversation incredibly scarce, and eventually just asked about Luna.

She did know Luna, it turned out, and what's more, Luna lived nearby, and they had played together when they were younger. Harry was intrigued.

Ron came barrelling toward them as they neared the house.

"Harry, what're you doing here?" he asked, eyeing his sister and Harry suspiciously. She blushed again.

"I was exploring and I found your sister," Harry said, shrugging. Harry still wasn't entirely sure of her name, though he remembered her being among the Weasleys he'd gone to Diagon Alley with before third year. He remembered knowing it then, and it was on the tip of his tongue now. It was far too late to ask, though, having missed the opportunity in the trees.

"Mum's looking for you, Ginny," Ron said, still watching Harry.

Ginny! Ginny was her name. Harry filed this information away for later use and waved goodbye as she started off down the path again. "Bye, Ginny," he called, and he could see her ears turning red as she walked away.

Ron narrowed his eyes.

"What's with you and my sister?" he asked. Harry blinked at him, surprised.

"I told you, I found her in a tree. She said you were down here so I thought I'd come say hi."

Ron's suspicious glare didn't cease, and Harry suddenly realized what was wrong. He laughed a little.

"I have no interest in your sister, Ron, Merlin," he said, raising his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "I didn't even know her name until you said it just now."

Ron's glare died a little bit. "How did you manage a whole conversation without saying her name?"

Harry shrugged. Ron grinned at him. "Well then, in that case. Mum's going to kill her for climbing trees again. Do you have your broom with you?"

* * *

It took Harry weeks and weeks to create a corporeal Patronus. He made sure of it.

Once he'd gotten the hang of the spell, which admittedly did take a few weeks, he began purposefully doing it wrong. Each time he failed, Sirius gave him a small, reassuring smile, closed his eyes for a long moment, and summoned up his own Patronus, a large black dog, similar to his animagus form.

The demonstrations were useful, though Harry didn't really need so many. But that wasn't the point. Harry was well aware that he was not being taught this for his own sake. There weren't going to be dementors at school next year. Hopefully, he'd never have to go near another dementor again.

But that wasn't the point.

Sirius mentioned using the Patronus as a method of communication one day, and Lupin jumped on it. After that, Sirius sent messages to Harry and Lupin from across the house constantly, and Lupin spent a day explaining the theory behind it to Harry, even though he hadn't yet been able to form a corporeal Patronus, which was fine. Harry was perfectly happy to serve as a flimsy cover for Sirius' unorthodox therapy, as long as he got something out of it.

And he did. Harry learned quite a lot. More than just the Patronus, once he'd figured it out. He was learning how to prevent himself from casting successfully, how to control how much magic he used. Harry was hopeful that this meant he was learning focus. Snape would be happy, come the start of term.

As the end of the summer (and the Quidditch World Cup) approached, Sirius stopped smiling reassuringly at Harry when he failed, and began to look sceptical.

"Alright, Harry, drop it," Sirius said one day, grinning at him. "Remus is in the loo. It'll be between you and me. Can you really do it? Let's see your Patronus."

Harry deliberated. It didn't really matter if Remus could see them or not, though he thought maybe the ruse would be more difficult to keep up if everyone was in on it. This way he and Sirius could have something to keep from Remus, and so a reason to continue.

He shrugged and cast, thinking about how much happier Sirius seemed now, in comparison to the first time Harry met him. A stag burst out of his wand and trotted around the room. Sirius stared at it and blinked rapidly.

"Prongs," he said, and turned a blinding grin on Harry, who was shocked when Sirius suddenly descended on him and gave him a tight hug.

* * *

Harry lay in his bed the night before they were due to leave for the World Cup, unable to sleep but for excitement. Draco was going to be at the World Cup, as was Blaise.

Anthony was decidedly not going, even when Harry invited him. Anthony didn't care one jot about Quidditch. Hermione declined as well, though she had a better reason than 'eh', which was the best Anthony could come up with. Harry'd been annoyed at how much indifference Anthony could express in one written word. Hermione had at least managed a sentence of regretful apathy. The remaining four pages of her letter were what Harry considered her excuse, though they were really more Hermione going on and on about Greece, which was where she was spending most of the summer.

Bookworms were useless when it came to brooms, Harry decided.

The Weasleys were also going. Ron's father managed to get tickets at the last minute, according to Ron. He'd invited Neville and Dudley, which fulfilled Harry's promise to Dudley, which Harry had been appreciative of as he hadn't been able to think of anything else short of lying to Uncle Vernon.

The Aunt Marge Visit went well, according to the letter Dudley sent for Harry's birthday. Aunt Marge had indeed found better things to talk about than Dudley's mother, though that didn't mean she didn't mention Petunia at all. 'She's Aunt Marge', Dudley wrote. Harry understood that sentiment more completely than Dudley could imagine.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because Harry woke to Sirius jostling him and threatening a bath-in-bed if he didn't get up. Harry was disoriented, having had a strange dream, and his head hurt.

He waved Sirius out of the room with promises to be downstairs for breakfast in half an hour, then sat, rubbing his forehead absentmindedly and thinking about the dream. It hadn't been pleasant, and Harry was glad Sirius woke him when he did. There had been a snake, and a baby. Or something, the baby had looked odd. And there had been a dead body, an old man. Harry shuddered. The snake had been eating him.

All in all, it was disturbing. Harry got up and started his morning routine, trying to forget. It had been so _vivid._

* * *

When Sirius, Remus and Harry arrived at the large camping grounds and had their tent pitched, Harry went exploring. The Weasleys were already here, had been since last night. Harry saw Neville, Dudley and Ron pass by, apparently collecting water, and they stopped for a short conversation before continuing their journey back to their tent. As far as Harry knew, none of his Slytherin friends had arrived yet, though he kept an eye out for the giant blue tent Draco had described as he wandered the area. Remus and Sirius were still at their site, setting up a fire and ignoring their neighbours, who were blatant with their stares. Harry knew some of those stares had followed him as he wandered off, and remembered Sirius' advice to keep alert. He began to notice the ridiculous attire of the few wizards that had bothered to obey the muggle dress requirements, and grinned as a man in a flowery nightgown walked past, muttering to himself and lugging a pail of water.

Eventually, he ended up finding the Weasleys again, and joined them. Arthur, who had lent Remus the flying car, was talking to another, sombre man.

"It's a great loss," he was saying. Harry sat down on a log and surveyed the campsite. They appeared to have pitched the tent by hand. He was impressed. Ron saw him looking and rolled his eyes.

"Dad made us do it the muggle way," he said. "He was really excited."

Harry grinned. "Remus set up our tent in about five seconds, but Sirius and I were playing fetch. I threw the stick too close to the tent and he landed on it."

On the other side of the fire, Arthur nodded soberly to his companion. "Barty was a good man."

Ron laughed, as did Neville and Dudley.

"How was Aunt Marge?" Harry asked Dudley. "I know you said she was fine, but..."

Dudley shrugged. "She bought me a Playstation. I don't know what I'm going to do with it. I mean, I couldn't bring it to Hogwarts with me."

"You just can't trust a house elf these days."

"What's a Playstation?" Neville asked. Dudley set about in an attempt to explain the wonders of video games to Ron and Neville, who were still having trouble with the concept of light bulbs. Harry sat back and watched, making no attempt to help. It wasn't like he'd ever played a video game.

Fred and George joined them in the middle of Dudley's explanation, and sat down on either side of Harry. He glanced between them, and they grinned in unison.

"Hey, Harry," said the twin on the left. Harry labelled him Fred, and stuck with it. George spoke next.

"How's life with two Marauders been treating you?"

Harry smiled. "It's been great, actually, I -"

"-should introduce us?" George and Fred looked at each other over Harry's head.

"Why, Harry, that's so thoughtful of you!" Fred and George linked their arms with Harry's, whose eyes widened in surprise at the motion. Before he could move, the two of them stood up, taking him with them.

"Positively delightful, what a jolly good fellow you are, Harry."

"I-"

"We saw a few Slytherins on the way over, didn't we George?"

"We did, Fred, we did. They were tucked away in a corner, we were lucky to see them. Doubt we would have found them without two pairs of eyes."

"I don't know," George said. "The blonde hair was kind of a giveaway. But they were well hidden."

"I suppose we'll have to find them again," Fred grinned. "After Harry introduces us, of course."

Harry rolled his eyes. Good to know that Draco was here, then. The twins began frog-marching Harry down the path, swerving unerringly between tents and making a beeline for the area where Harry knew Remus and Sirius had set up camp.

"How do you know where our site is?" Harry asked suspiciously as the familiar red tent came into view.

"We looked, of course," Fred said, and grinned. His twin matched him tooth for tooth.

"Oh, don't look so disturbed," George said. "We just looked."

They reached their destination in record time. Sirius looked up as they approached, and smiled uncertainly at the two older boys restraining his godson. They continued to grip Harry's arms until Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Sirius, this is Fred and George Weasley. Fred and George, this is Sirius. Or Padfoot, I suppose."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at the mention of his nickname. "Weasley, eh?" he said.

Fred and George nodded enthusiastically, still gripping Harry's arms, which were starting to feel numb. Harry very carefully extricated himself and sat down by the fire. This seemed to snap Fred and George out of their stupor, and they threw themselves on the ground next to Harry, grinning.

"We've heard so much about you, sir," George said.

"The mastermind behind so many of the Marauder's misdeeds." Fred sighed. "We have so much to learn from you."

* * *

Sirius had been confused at first, then pleased, then perfectly happy to regale the Weasley twins with stories of his Hogwarts days. When Remus reappeared, having gone to get water, he found the four of them howling with laughter over Sirius' impression of a suit of armour that had been charmed to follow Flitwick around the school, mimicking his every movement and providing a running commentary, courtesy of a brief truce with Peeves. Remus listened for a moment, and grinned.

"You're talking about when Peeves turned on us and attacked you and James with that suit of armour, aren't you?"

"Remus!" Sirius gave him a dirty look. "You ruined the story."

"No, he didn't!" Fred protested.

"Go on," his twin added. "Tell us about Peeves."

As Sirius began to speak again, gesturing with his arms for emphasis, Harry spotted Draco and Blaise walking down the path between the various tents, and waved. They spotted him, then the Weasleys and Sirius. Draco stopped and stared, though Blaise continued walking and even had the presence of mind to reach back and grab Draco's arm, tugging him along.

"Hi Harry," he said, sitting down on the grass with Harry and attempting to pull Draco down next to him without looking away from Sirius' impersonation of a cowering Remus. Remus was objecting to such crass misrepresentation and demanding that Sirius tell them what he'd done.

"Well, brave Gryffindor that I am, I-"

"Ran off in the opposite direction like an eight year old girl," Remus finished smugly. Sirius gave him another dirty look as the twins chortled.

"It's called a _tactical retreat,_ Moony," he said in a long-suffering voice.

"He seems cheerful," Draco said, having resisted Blaise's attempts to pull him to the ground. He sat down fastidiously next to Harry, his cloak underneath him. Harry looked at him askance.

"I like these robes," Draco said defensively. When Harry's expression did not change, Draco huffed and shoved him with a shoulder. "Shut up. What are Weasleys doing here?"

"They wanted to meet Sirius," Harry said, shrugging. "They just kind of invited themselves over."

They listened to a few more stories, but Draco seemed antsy, so Harry excused the three of them with a wave and pulled Draco and Blaise off away from the tent. They began walking in the direction Blaise and Draco had come from, and Draco relaxed noticeably.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Blaise watched Draco expectantly as they waited for an answer. Draco's movements were slightly jerky as he looked around at the people passing them by, clearly avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Nothing's wrong, why do you ask?"

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced at Blaise, whose mouth was twisted with impatience as he watched Draco. He obviously knew something. If Harry couldn't get it out of Draco, he was going to have to get Blaise alone and interrogate him instead.

"You're all..." Harry waved his hands helplessly. "Twitchy. Or something. And prissy."

Blaise grinned at Harry's words, and at Draco's offended glare.

"I am not prissy."

"'I like these robes,'" Harry mimicked, and mock-curtseyed at Draco. "That's not prissy? Really?"

Draco made a face. "Well I do like them. And they were expensive. Mother will have my head if I ruin them." He paused, apparently considering something. "And I'm not twitchy either. It's not my fault if you surround yourself with Gryffindors, though I've no idea why you'd want to."

Harry sighed. "I like some Gryffindors. Where's your tent, anyway?"

"It's over there somewhere," Draco said, gesturing vaguely. "Let's go look around."

He led them in the opposite direction, and Harry looked at Blaise, confused. Blaise had the beginnings of a glare on his face, though he softened when he looked at Harry and shrugged apologetically.

They never did visit Draco's tent.

* * *

The match was spectacular, and Harry enjoyed it thoroughly. Sirius and Remus sat next to him, cheering unabashedly for Ireland every time they scored a goal. The Bulgarian seeker caught the snitch, but Ireland still won, and their throats were hoarse by the end of the night.

"Bloody amazing," Sirius said, grinning widely as they sat around the table inside their tent, nursing cups of honeyed tea. After a few hours of rehashing the match, they all retired, and Harry fell asleep with a grin still firmly lodged on his face. It had been a great night, and an even better summer.

He woke a few hours later to Sirius jostling him again, his face white and anxious.

"Get some clothes on and get your wand," he said, his voice eerily calm. Harry could hear noises in the next room, though it was the scream that really got him out of bed.

"What's going on?" he asked as he stumbled into a pair of trousers. Harry had never seen Sirius like this, his entire being tense and alert, his wand at the ready as though they were about to be attacked. When Harry had first met him, it was sometimes difficult to get Sirius' attention at all; such focus was unthinkable.

"Some of the Death Eaters that got off decided to have a bit of fun," Sirius said darkly, and Harry nearly fell over.

"What?" he asked, shocked. Remus appeared at the door an instant later, summoned by Harry's raised voice. He was almost as tense as Sirius.

"Just some revellers, drunk, no doubt," he said in an attempt to be soothing.

"They've got that family of muggles spinning round up in the air," Sirius said, ruining any soothing effect Remus might have had. "We're going to help stop them."

"And by we, Sirius means the two of us," Remus told Harry firmly. "Go into the forest, try to find the Weasleys." He paused, staring at Harry's pale face, as though deliberating what he should say. "They're setting things on fire, you can't stay here. Find the Weasleys. We'll find you when everything calms down."

"And keep alert," Sirius said, a parody of his earlier admonition. Still groggy and bewildered, Harry did as he was told and followed them out of the tent. The forest was only a few meters from their site, and Sirius and Remus were heading toward all the destruction. Harry's path was a much calmer alternative.

Not that the forest was calm by any means, Harry realised as he stepped into the trees and discovered how many others had had the same idea as Remus. The forest was thronging with panicked, confused people. It was going to be a trick to find anyone in this, let alone the Weasleys. Harry considered looking for Draco instead, figuring that such bright hair would be hard to miss, even at night.

He began searching, very aware of how alone he was as small groups of people rushed past, shoving him out of the way when they caught him by surprise.

Harry stood flush against a tree and tried to think. He needed to find _someone._ Wandering around in the dark like this wasn't working. And Remus said they'd find him, which probably meant one of them would send their Patronus after him; that was the method Remus usually had Sirius use when Harry was out wandering the fields and took too long in getting home.

Harry considered the idea from several angles. He doubted he'd be in trouble for using magic in this situation, and the Patronus would be able to find whoever he sent the message to. Harry would just have to follow it. And it would be nice to have light and company.

Harry decided to look for Draco. He and Blaise might be in the same situation, and anyway, he hadn't seen them since before the match. Ron, Neville and Dudley had found Harry on the walk back to the tents, and they'd all had a good time arguing about the outcome.

Harry cast the Patronus and sent it off with the message for Draco. It cantered along, and Harry followed at a rapid pace. Another upside of wandering around with a Patronus as large as Harry's was that people saw it ahead of time and Harry wasn't getting jostled anymore.

He found Draco at the edge of the forest, and what's more, the Weasley group was with him. Harry paused at the edge of the clearing, because Ron and Draco were glaring daggers at each other and Harry was not about to get caught in the middle of whatever argument they were having. He cancelled his Patronus, even, and listened.

"I bet your daddy's out there with the rest of them, levitating muggles," Ron was saying accusingly. Harry was taken aback by the level of ferocity in his voice.

"Fuck you, Weasley," Draco snarled. He had been leaning against a tree, but now he was bristling and advancing on Ron as though he'd hit him. Blaise stepped forward, thankfully, to restrain Draco and interrupt the fight. Neville, Dudley and the other Weasleys weren't about to help, from the look of things.

"Look, this is stupid," Blaise said reasonably. "Now is not the time, both of you."

"Just because you're friends with Harry Potter doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do, Zabini," Ron sneered. "Did you even see what they were doing to those muggles, Malfoy, or did you just think it was funny? Does Harry know what your father does for fun?"

"_Shut the fuck up,_" Draco snarled dangerously. Blaise's efforts to defuse the fight were obviously not working, despite his continued attempts to keep the two apart. Neville had finally stepped forward to put a hand on Ron's arm, at least. "He does _not._"

Ron snorted, and Harry thought this was about the time to intervene. He tried not to think about who the 'he' might be in Draco's last words, summoned his Patronus again, and sent it out to Draco, following closely. The stag caught everyone's attention, and Harry looked around at them all, schooling his face into relief.

"Great, you're all together," he said. The tension from moments ago was still there, but Harry pretended not to notice. Draco was still breathing heavily, but everything else about him spoke of calm. He listened to the message Harry's patronus gave him and smiled briefly.

"I was rooting for Bulgaria," he admitted. "And I'm fine."

Harry looked around at the rest of his friends, noting that Ron still looked furious. Neville was still at his side, though his face was pale, as was Dudley's. The twins had Ginny between them, and were watching the entire scene with intrigued expressions.

Blaise was watching Harry with a similar expression, and Harry turned away from him. One person, at least, had seen through his pretence. And he and Harry were going to _talk_ soon. Answers would be had.

* * *

_A/N:_ _Allow me to reiterate: This will NOT be Ginny/Harry. It will not. I cannot do it. I cannot. Just so you know. She is allowed to exist though, so here she is. *g* Anywho, http : / j1mmyj6zz .deviantart . com/ made me a banner! It is positively lovely, and you can see it by clicking on my homepage in my profile and clicking on fanfiction. It is not here because I do not have the faintest notion of whether I am even allowed to put it here, even if I was tech savvy enough to do it. But it is very lovely, and I was thrilled to receive it. So thank you! And thank you to everyone else for reading and reviewing and enjoying this story! Horray for the beginning of fourth year; I think this is a tremendous way to start it. :D_


	37. The Pressure

Harry didn't get a chance to talk to Blaise until the train ride to Hogwarts a week later. A letter wouldn't solve this, after all. On the Express, it didn't take long for Harry to pull Blaise away from Pansy and Draco and into an empty compartment.

Harry gave Blaise a very determined stare, which Blaise responded to with a raised eyebrow.

"You were there the whole time," Blaise said, and Harry jerked his head in a nod.

"What was Ron going on about?" Harry asked. He didn't want to think Draco was hiding things from him, but he clearly was. Harry still had hope that Blaise would absolve Draco and his father of anything like what Ron had been suggesting.

Blaise was silent, frowning. "As much as I want to tell you, it's not my place to say," he eventually admitted.

Harry gaped at him. "Are you joking? What's Draco hiding? You know."

"I do," Blaise agreed, shrugging apologetically. "But I can't tell you. For one, Draco would kill me. And it really isn't my place. I've been trying to convince him to talk to you, though. Perhaps you should make the first move in this."

Harry grimaced. "What _can_ you tell me?"

Blaise gave him a faint, sympathetic smile. "Draco has the best of intentions," he said. Harry stared, and Blaise shrugged. "Not good enough? Then ask Draco."

"Tell me something concrete," Harry said. "Anything."

Blaise shook his head at Harry and cuffed him on the arm. "Be a Slytherin about it, Harry. What's wrong with you?"

And with that, he turned around and walked out of the compartment. Harry watched him go, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

He resolved to speak to Draco after the Welcome Feast. Answers were going to be had.

* * *

When they arrived in the Great Hall, dripping from the rain outside and Peeves' water balloons, Harry had decided to make his first Slytherin move in the attempt to discover Draco's secret. Spending the summer with Gryffindors had softened Harry, and Blaise was right. He'd been far too blunt in his questioning on the train. He was a shame to his House.

"Draco," Harry began, turning to look at him as they walked around the end of the Slytherin table to their usual seats. He faltered when he saw that Draco was walking on the other side of the table, with Blaise, and that Pansy had doubled back to sit on Harry's side, her face blank. Blaise was wearing an unreadable expression, and Draco was clearly trying to pretend everything was normal.

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry was drawing a blank, suddenly. Draco always sat next to him at meals, since their Sorting. "Er, never mind," he said. Blaise frowned at Draco, which he either didn't notice or pretended not to see. Pansy's face was still carefully impassive as Harry sat down next to her.

It was a very eventful meal, what with the new Defence teacher showing up halfway through Dumbledore's speech, looking all gnarled and sinister, and the news that Quidditch was cancelled for the year, to be replaced by the Triwizard Tournament. Draco managed to ignore Harry for the entire meal, with such material at his fingertips.

It was the same way in classes over the next couple weeks. Draco partnered with Pansy in classes they all had together, and talked to Harry rarely outside class, though he always acted like nothing was wrong when he did. It was during their second DADA class that Harry realised just how furious he was about the way Draco was acting.

The new Defense professor, Moody, had shown them the Unforgivables in the previous class. Now, he was planning to test them all for resistance to the Imperius curse. Something about this seemed off to Harry; maybe it was just that the professor had already made it pretty clear that performing the Imperius on humans was illegal. Who knew. Either way, any protests were quickly silenced by the professor's silent, dichromatic glare, and students began to reluctantly line up. Pansy made certain she was at the end of the line, and pulled Harry with her.

"I miss Lockhart," she muttered. When Harry stared at her, incredulous, she gestured vaguely at the new professor. "Did Lockhart ever do anything like this?" she asked, as Theo Nott hopped around the room like a frog. "No. He just sat around, looking pretty and babbling nonsense at us. This one shouts and stares at you with that eye. I bet anything he's looking through Daphne's skirt right now."

Daphne was next in line, it was true, and Moody was staring at her fiercely as he cast the curse. Harry hoped Moody wasn't looking through her skirt. He'd worn that same expression while staring at Harry a little while ago. It didn't bear thinking about.

They had this class with Ravenclaws, and the entertainment value was potentially high. No group of Harry's year mates were quite as uptight as a combined class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and Moody was sparing no expense as he thought up more and more ridiculous things for each of them to do. Harry got the idea that there would have been laughter, had everyone not been so worried about what they might end up doing.

Anthony sidled up next to Harry in line, having neared the front and realised his folly.

"Lisa is having a panic attack," he said under his breath, as one of the other Ravenclaw boys twirled around the room and sang the Hogwarts school song in a high pitched voice. The three of them winced in unison as he passed near them. "She absolutely does not want anything to do with this lesson."

Pansy frowned sympathetically, which Harry thought was something, considering that the last time she'd spoken to Anthony last year, she called him insane. They both had apparently forgotten though; Anthony because he was Anthony, and Pansy because it would be stupid of her to remind him.

"Tell her she has cramps," Pansy responded, almost inaudibly. "Terrible cramps. The spell is _Adstringo volva_. You end it with _Finite_."

Anthony nodded and disappeared again.

"Wish I could get out of things so easily," Harry said enviously.

Pansy glanced at him, amused. "No you don't," she said. Anthony reappeared a moment later, and it only took a few more minutes after that for Lisa Turpin to start moaning and asking to be excused.

Professor Moody allowed it, though he barked at her to come back quickly. Turpin bolted, and the expression on her face as she passed spoke very clearly to her intention of hiding in the loo for the rest of the hour.

Blaise was up next, and he clucked and strutted around the room for the next little while, pecking at people with his nose. He stopped in front of Harry and crowed like a rooster, and Harry pressed his lips together to hide his amusement, because it wasn't funny.

"Potter, you're up next,' Moody said, and Harry glanced up, surprised. There was a whole class in front of him in line. He could feel Pansy distancing herself from him, but he didn't look back at her. He walked into the centre of the room, where everyone else had begun their turn, and waited.

"Imperio," Moody said, and a feeling of incredible lightness fell over Harry like an Invisibility Cloak. It didn't matter what he did now. He could do anything.

"_Do a handstand,_" a voice in his head suggested.

He could do a handstand. He raised his arms, then paused. Why though? He couldn't even do handstands. He always fell. He started to raise his arms again, and caught himself. Draco was standing not five feet away in line, looking elsewhere. Harry would probably fall, and land on Draco, which meant he'd probably end up kicking him in the face.

Harry raised his arms again. See if Draco could ignore Harry when he was kicking him in the face.

But then, Harry really didn't want to do a handstand, or kick Draco in the face, no matter how tempting it was. He ended up trying to do a handstand and trying to stop himself, and the result was that he threw himself on the ground, nearly headfirst. The lovely floaty feeling ended abruptly, and left Harry with a throbbing headache from where he'd landed. Moody was crowing something above him, and Harry stood, trying to block out the roar of the professor's voice and reorient himself.

Moody was going on about how Harry had nearly resisted the curse, and it occurred to Harry that he might have resisted altogether if Draco hadn't been standing there, practically begging to be kicked.

And that was when he realised just how upset he really was at Draco for ignoring him, just before Moody cast Imperio again, to test Harry's limits.

* * *

Blaise was glaring at Draco by the end of classes that Friday, and tugged Draco away just before dinner. Harry didn't mind. It wasn't as though Draco was going to talk to him, anyway.

The only reason Harry could come up with for Draco's abrupt change was that he knew Harry had heard Ron's accusations at the Cup, and that they had some basis in reality. Draco was trying to avoid questioning by avoiding Harry, and Harry decided that was answer enough. When Draco and Blaise showed up in the common room after dinner that night, Harry turned to Pansy and pretended they were in the middle of an in depth discussion about Ancient Runes, which Pansy was admittedly not taking. Because she was Harry's favourite person ever, she didn't allow that to deter her and played along like a champion. It didn't matter in the end, though, because Draco made a beeline for the dorm, never even glancing in their direction.

Blaise sat down with them, and they let the flimsy conversation drop.

"He's being stubborn," Blaise said to Harry, who was biting his tongue and trying very hard to keep his expression neutral, while wishing he had taken that opportunity to kick Draco during Defense.

"Draco is an idiot." Pansy put her hand on Harry's arm in a comforting gesture. "Remember second year? He was an idiot then and he's an idiot now."

Harry gave up on keeping his expression neutral, and allowed it to twist into the scowl he'd been fighting. "So this is the same thing, then?" he demanded. "He's still not over that pureblood supremacy shit?" He sneered. "And his father probably spent the summer encouraging it, if he really was levitating those muggles at the Cup."

Blaise looked uncomfortable. "It's not that he believes in it, Harry," he said. "It's just that he's got a lot of pressure on him at home."

Harry snorted. "I don't even care. I don't. If he wants to talk to me, fine. If he'd rather been a muggle-hating bigot, _fine_. I don't care."

"Harry," Pansy said, looking worried for the first time. Harry stood up.

'No. I don't care." And he left the common room.

* * *

Draco continued to distance himself from Harry, though he now had Harry's help. Harry sat as far away from Draco at meals as he could while still technically sitting with his friends. Draco's eagle owl was a frequent visitor to the table, sans the usual sweets, and he never finished his breakfast after his owl arrived, instead spending the rest of the meal perusing the letter with an anxious air about him.

Harry didn't notice this, because he didn't care. Draco was ignoring Harry, so Harry could ignore Draco just as easily. Harry's resolve only firmed when he realised Draco was spending most of his time with Vince and Greg, and with the older Slytherins that tended to sneer when they saw Harry with his Gryffindor friends. It was exactly the same as second year, and Harry already knew what they probably talked about, and why Draco was associating with them. He just didn't care.

Harry spent a lot more time with his Gryffindors during the first couple months of school than he usually did. Hermione didn't question it, and she looked a lot better than she had at the end of the school year. Greece had been good to her.

"Did you get rid of the Time Turner, then?" Harry asked, as they pulled out their homework. Hermione had less books than usual, at least.

"No," Hermione said, shrugging. "I dropped Divination, and suddenly it's all so much more bearable. It was that useless class pulling me down last year. And I've decided that, in Muggle Studies, all the reading assignments are optional."

Harry stared at her, his mouth open slightly. "Hermione Granger, slacking off?"

Hermione blushed a bit, and lifted her chin. "It's not as though I don't know most of it already. And I do the readings. Just not always on time."

Harry continued to gape at her. She leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Don't tell Ron or Dudley," she whispered. "Or Neville, for that matter. I don't want them thinking they can declare homework optional just because I did."

Harry finally found his voice again. "Why don't you just drop the class?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't," she said earnestly. "It's fascinating, seeing the Muggle world from the wizarding perspective. And often, really, really funny. Wizards don't have a clue, sometimes. Now that I'm not so frantic over the homework, it's turning into my favourite class."

Harry stared at her some more. "Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" he asked, after the staring yielded no answers. Hermione smiled fondly at him.

"Last year was a good lesson in limits," she explained. "I'm glad you figured out what was going on when you did, too, else I might have had a nervous breakdown. Now I know what I can and can't handle."

Harry nodded, and asked curiously, "So how many extra hours a week do you have?"

"Two or three," Hermione said, averting her eyes. Harry waited.

"I may have scheduled naps," she admitted sheepishly, and he grinned at her.

* * *

"Potter. I may have been careless in my explanation of nonverbal casting at the end of last term, but it is rather the point that you _do not say the spell out loud_. I apologise if I did not mention that vital detail. Or perhaps you are not clear. A whisper is still generally considered 'out loud'."

Harry rolled his eyes, but only because he was sure Snape couldn't see. His practice with Sirius and Remus during the summer had been enormously helpful, as long as Harry wasn't attempting any spells more complicated or long lasting than Incendio.

"Again," Snape said, and cast a nonverbal spell of his own, presumably to show Harry how. Harry raised his wand to retaliate, opened his mouth automatically, and realised the spell Snape had cast was Silencio.

Snape smirked at him as he attempted to end the spell.

"Anyone who removes that spell for you will have detention for a month," Snape told him, eyes glinting. "I _will_ know."

Harry glared fruitlessly at Snape, which only caused the smirk on his professor's face to widen.

"A new tactic," Snape said, taking advantage of the silence. "Every night, before you fall asleep, you will clear your mind of all thoughts. Every night, Potter. It should become as routine as brushing your teeth."

When Harry nodded, Snape raised his wand and threw another spell at him. Harry very nearly dodged it, before considering that Snape might Petrify him in place. Instead, he grabbed a book from the shelf behind him and held it in the path of the curse. The book burned Harry's hands with the force of it.

The glower on Snape's face was worth burnt hands.

* * *

_'Finite Incantatem_,' Harry thought. It didn't work. Dudley grinned at him.

"So, Harry, can I borrow your Firebolt?" he asked. Harry's eyes widened. "Just go ahead and don't say anything. I'll take the silence as a yes."

Harry opened his mouth and began spouting furiously mouthed silence. There was a reason he was with his Gryffindor friends at the moment, and that was so that his Slytherin friends couldn't take advantage of his inability to speak. Just like Dudley was doing now, the git.

Ron and Neville laughed as Dudley's eyes lit up.

"Yes? Harry, you're such a good cousin. I'll bring it back eventually, don't worry."

Harry glared. _'Finite Incantatem_,' he thought again, with more ferocity than ever. And then, when that didn't work, _'Densaugeo._'

Dudley's teeth didn't change. Harry hadn't really expected it to work, though it would have been a nice way to finally figure out nonverbal spells.

Hermione tutted at him. "Harry, Snape said you need to focus. Glaring isn't focusing."

Harry turned his glare on her instead, and she hid her smile a second too late.

"Some of the gardening spells Gran taught me are nonverbal," Neville said. "You've got to think it so clearly that it sounds to you like you've said it out loud, only you haven't."

Harry blinked at him, raised his palms up in the air, and adopted a confused expression.

"I'm with Harry," Ron said, mimicking Harry's posture, though he was grinning instead of furrowing his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"He means like the other day, Ron," said Dudley. "When you said, 'Hermione is such a know-it-all', and you thought you were just thinking it, but you really said it out loud."

Harry laughed soundlessly while Hermione glared at Ron. One good thing about being Silenced in the library was that he could laugh as much as he wanted, and Madame Pince wouldn't scold him.

"I think you're close, Dudley," Hermione said, giving Ron a very pointed look. "But what Neville is talking about is when Ron said, 'I'm so sorry Hermione, you're all that's keeping me from failing out of school, and I can only hope continued grovelling will make up for my incredibly crass comment,' and he thought he was saying it out loud, but he wasn't."

Harry waved her down, still grinning, and picked up his wand to try again. Hopefully laughter wouldn't impede the process.

'Finite Incantatem,' he thought.

"..." he said, and made a face when Dudley grinned at him with his perfectly normal teeth.

* * *

Harry did end up letting Dudley borrow his Firebolt, mostly because he wanted to go flying anyway. He was becoming restless without Quidditch practice, and it wasn't like he had anyone to fly with in Slytherin.

"So how's Sirius doing?" Dudley called as he shot past Harry like a gleeful bullet. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't like Dudley was going to get an answer out of Harry if he didn't stay still. Sign language and miming didn't work if the person you were trying to communicate with wasn't looking.

Dudley came swooping past again, and his voice was like a train speeding by, if train whistles went through puberty and cracked occasionally.

"Whitey hasn't had time to deliver a letter for me since we got back," he said, and Harry nearly missed the end of his statement as he veered away. As Dudley flew back toward him, Harry got a head start and tried to keep pace.

"I have letters to send to Dad, you know," Dudley told him, slowing down for a moment so they could talk. "Important letters."

Harry conveyed his scepticism with a glance. It was true that he had been monopolising Dudley's owl since they returned to school, but not much had happened outside of the announcement for the Tournament.

"They are important," Dudley said, and tried a few rolls. When he finally righted himself again, he blinked dazedly and shook himself. "And Whitey misses me."

Harry snickered soundlessly and flipped over on his old Nimbus, flying upside-down because he could. Dudley imitated him, and shot off into the sky. It looked like an accident, but Harry followed him anyway, turning it into an upside-down race for the goal posts.

They soared around for a while, until it occurred to Harry that he was usually very focused at Quidditch, and maybe he could try to think about nonverbal spells in the same way he thought about flying. It was worth a shot, anyway, and Harry really didn't want to be mute for more than a day. He was dreading what would happen if he showed up to Snape's Parseltongue lesson still under the spell.

Harry paused in midair, closed his eyes, and thought of the feeling he got when he saw the Snitch. He mentally replaced the Snitch with the words 'Finite Incantatem', floating in front of him, and then he reached out and grasped them.

"..." Harry said, and huffed. He narrowed his eyes and pulled out his wand, staring at it as though it was a Snitch he needed to capture, and thinking about what his own voice sounded like (not to mention how much he wanted to yell at Dudley for the stunt he had just pulled on Harry's broom a second ago). '_Finite Incantatem.'_

"Er. ...hey!" Harry said, and realised he could speak. "Dudley!" he yelled, swooping through the air to where his cousin had righted himself and was winding his way between the goalposts. "Did you hear me?" he asked urgently.

Dudley frowned at him. "I hear you now," he said, rubbing his ear. "Just because you can talk again doesn't mean you have to yell at me."

Harry grinned. "It worked," he said, awed. "I can't believe it worked. I want to see what else works. Curse me."

"What?"

"Cast some curse," Harry said, diving a few feet and staring around at the grass below them. Dudley followed him, curious.

"Which curse?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Any curse, go on." He took a deep breath and, using the same method as before, summoned several pebbles. He grinned as they soared out of the grass and into his hand. Enlarging them was another matter altogether, and Harry spoke the words, dropping the Bludger-sized rocks as he grew them.

"Here?" Dudley asked, which was inane in Harry's opinion.

"Well, yes," he said, and waited. Dudley cast Petrifus, which was a dirty move for a first try, seeing as Harry would fall off his broom if he failed.

He didn't though, much to his own delight. He cast the counter nonverbally. It was like a barrier had broken, and where he had stared blankly at explanations before, he understood now. Dudley started to enjoy the mid-air duel after he realised Harry was going to let him attack without retaliation, and Harry was even able to use his mini-boulders. It was positively thrilling, and he began planning all the terrible, terrible pranks he would play on Blaise and blame on Draco, and vice versa.

And then he remembered that he and Draco were barely talking, and one of Dudley's spells got through. Tarantallegra was fortunately harmless in the air, though Harry's broom did swerve wildly for a moment before he was able to cast the counter.

It was just like Draco lately to put a damper on Harry's mood.


	38. The Arrival

The representatives of the other schools were due to arrive just before dinner, and the entire school was lined up on the lawns, waiting. Pansy told Harry that one of her cousins had gone to Beauxbatons, though he already graduated. Draco told several nearby Slytherins that his father wanted to send him to Durmstrang in first year, only Harry didn't hear him, because he was ignoring Draco.

"Victor Krum goes to Durmstrang," Blaise said, so that they didn't have to stand there in silence and listen to a conversation that didn't include them.

"The Seeker?" Harry asked, grateful. He knew Pansy and Blaise could be over there with Draco, chatting with the older years, and it was good of them to stay with him instead.

"Yeah, he caught the Snitch at the Quidditch World Cup, remember?" They discussed this for a few minutes while Pansy talked to Tracy Davis, until the professors hushed everyone and the Beauxbatons carriage arrived, drawn by giant flying horses. It was impressive, Harry could admit, and he listened while Pansy whispered that they were Abraxan horses.

He didn't listen when Draco told the other Slytherins that his great-grandfather used to breed that type of winged horse.

It didn't take much longer for the Durmstrang contingent to arrive, in a ship of all things, out on the lake and reminding Harry of nothing more than a toy boat bobbing on water that was swirling up a drain instead of down. It was strange to watch.

In the Great Hall, the Beauxbaton students sat with the Ravenclaws, and Harry could hear them sneering over everything from the windows to the cutlery. He was glad to be sitting far away, at the Slytherin table, and would have felt sorry for Anthony and Luna if he thought they'd actually pay a bit of attention to the new arrivals.

The Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table, and Harry was very happy to have them, not just because they were more awed than disdainful of the Hall. Victor Krum was among them, the Seeker Harry and Blaise had just been talking about, and he sat only a few seats down from Harry's place. Draco had somehow managed to sit next to him and was ostensibly telling him all about Hogwarts.

Harry decided he would talk to Krum later, and tucked into his food instead. One of the other Durmstrang boys found a place next to Harry, and was watching him rather blatantly.

"How are you liking Hogwarts so far?" Harry asked, setting his fork down. The boy gave him a smile and looked around the Hall. His eyes and hair were both dark, and he had a smudge of food on his chin, though they hadn't begun eating yet.

"It is very wonderful," he decided, and his voice was tinged with an accent similar to what Harry could hear of the other Durmstrang students. "My name is Desislav Poliakoff."

"Harry Potter," Harry offered. Poliakoff nodded eagerly.

"I have heard of you," he said. "Who hasn't? The Boy-Who-Lived, who defeated the Dark Lord."

Harry blinked. "Er, yes. These are my friends, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson."

Poliakoff eyed Blaise and Pansy with a thoughtful expression, and extended his hand across the table, where Pansy accepted it graciously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Blaise said, and shook his hand when it was offered.

"Thank you," Poliakoff said with a nervous smile. "I am hopeful that I will learn much this year, and be chosen for the title of Champion." As Poliakoff sat back, he knocked his elbow into his goblet, tipping it over and spilling pumpkin juice everywhere. The stain spread slowly across the table linens, and Harry winced as it began dripping down the side, nearly in his lap.

"Oh, forgive me!" Poliakoff cried, grabbing Harry's napkin and blotting up most of the mess. "I am sometimes clumsy, I apologise."

"It's fine, don't worry," Harry said, stealing Pansy's napkin and helping with the mess.

They had caught the attention of the surrounding students, Slytherin and Durmstrang alike. A few of the Durmstrang students rolled their eyes and went back to their food while Harry and Poliakoff attempted to clean up the mess. Pansy sighed and cast a cleaning charm, stopping them both in their tracks.

"Why didn't you think of that, Harry?" Blaise asked, sharing an amused glance with Pansy. Harry shrugged, feeling somewhat stupid.

Pansy raised her eyebrow. "My napkin?"

Harry handed it back to her, and looked around for his own. Poliakoff was tucking it into his collar. "Er," Harry said, and gave it up for lost as Poliakoff dripped some sauce onto it. "Right."

"What is Hogwarts like?" Poliakoff asked, and dropped his own unused napkin next to Harry's plate. Harry suddenly liked the boy a lot better, and was happy to ignore the sound of Draco's voice as he and the older Slytherins monopolized Victor Krum's attention.

The next morning brought a flurry of activity as the Slytherins left the dungeons. The Goblet of Fire had been placed in the Entrance Hall, and Harry, Blaise and Pansy not only had to walk around the ridiculously large Age Line surrounding the Goblet to get to breakfast, they also had to dodge the flying, bearded students who thought they could get across.

"Oblivious Hufflepuff at two o'clock," Blaise said, and Harry and Pansy instinctively ducked. The Hufflepuff went flying past their heads, and landed near the front doors sporting a white beard.

There were the students trying to sneak across the Line, and then there were the students

like that Hufflepuff, who just _weren't paying attention_ to where they were walking. Blaise claimed that they all deserved the same punishment, as they were each guilty of stupidity in their own way. Harry was hard-pressed to disagree with him, and just wanted to get inside the Great Hall.

"I don't know why anyone would want to try it now, with everyone watching," Harry said. "I would have done it last night, or during classes today."

"Have some privacy if you lose all your dignity and grow a beard," Pansy said, and laughed. "I would have too."

The Durmstrang contingent arrived at the front doors before the three of them managed to get out of the Entrance Hall, and they stopped and watched as each of the Durmstrang students put their names into the Goblet. It swallowed each slip of paper in a gust of flame, and the Headmaster of Durmstrang congratulated them all, or, to be more specific, he congratulated Krum. It was clear who he wanted in the Tournament.

Poliakoff split off from his group and hurried over to Harry and his friends. His tie was done up wrong.

"Hello, Harry!" he said with enthusiasm. "I am so hopeful that I will become a Champion."

"Er, good luck then," Harry said. Poliakoff smiled and followed when they went into the Great Hall. He sat down right next to Harry again, where Draco used to sit, and began to fill his plate while chattering away about the Tournament.

He sat with them at lunch, too, and at dinner. He became more and more animated as the meal drew to a close and the Goblet of Fire was brought out. Everyone grew tense with anticipation, and when the first charred paper was spit out of the Goblet, Dumbledore held it in his hands and examined it in silence for a moment.

"The Champion for Durmstrang will be...Victor Krum."

Harry looked at Poliakoff, expecting disappointment, but Poliakoff was clapping right along with the rest of the Hall as Krum rose and strode through a door behind the Staff Table.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons will be...Fleur Delacour."

The Champion for Beauxbatons was very pretty, and swept up the aisle as though she had never doubted her victory, ignoring her sobbing classmates.

"And the Champion for Hogwarts will be...Cedric Diggory."

"A Hufflepuff?" Pansy said sceptically as said table exploded with riotous cheers. "He has got to be joking."

Blaise grinned. "At least it wasn't a Gryffindor, right?"

"Wouldn't a brave Gryffindor stand more of a chance of winning?" Harry asked, aware that he was violating House pride. "I mean, they're all about slaying dragons and winning the prize. Look at Sir Cadagon."

"They're also much more likely to do something stupid and get eaten by the dragon," Pansy replied, watching narrowly as Diggory worked his way toward the door behind the Staff Table, stopping every few feet to be hugged or slapped on the back by his fellow Hufflepuffs. "Though admittedly, a Hufflepuff isn't much better."

Dumbledore twinkled down at the school as Diggory disappeared through the door and began a speech about how each school should be supportive of their Champion. Harry ignored him, and turned to Poliakoff.

He'd intended to ask Poliakoff's opinion on Krum, but the boy was staring abstractedly at the table and seemed lost in thought.

"I thought you were okay with Krum becoming Champion," Harry said, and Poliakoff jumped at the sound of his voice. "You certainly took it well at first."

"I am okay," he said, though he sounded upset. "He deserves the honour. But I am disappointed in myself, because I did not deserve it more."

* * *

"_Potter, have you been __keeping your thoughts clean __as I instructed?_"

Harry stared at Snape, trying to work out what his professor meant. Harry's thoughts generally quailed from anything profane or dirty when Snape was around. The combination was not desirable.

"Keeping my thoughts clean?" Harry asked in English. Parseltongue was finicky at the best of times, never mind with a non-native speaker. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Clearing your mind," he corrected. Harry nodded in comprehension, thought about how to best rephrase Snape's question, and hissed it slowly.

Snape repeated it and waited for an answer.

"_Most nights,_" Harry admitted. "_You never explained how it's supposed to help._"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "_That is no reason for you to..._to neglect your duties," he finished in English. Snape was having quite a bit more trouble than Anthony with Parseltongue, though Anthony had assured Harry that this was normal, Parseltongue only being Snape's second language. Apparently Anthony was fluent in several magical languages, and had been learning new ones regularly from a young age, which meant he picked them up faster for some reason.

Harry didn't bother mentioning it to Snape. He probably wouldn't have bought it anyway.

"_There is no use__ in trying to learn a skill without practicing__,_" Snape hissed, and switched back to English again. "Nonverbal spells are useless if your opponent can read your intentions in your thoughts. Your mind is an open book at the moment." Harry suddenly began to worry about what Snape might have picked up from his thoughts during lessons. He became doubly glad that he didn't think about anything questionable around Snape, and watched with a mild sense of horror as Snape's mouth turned up with amusement. "Clearing your mind every night before you sleep is the first step in closing it to intruders."

Harry resolved to clear his mind _twice_ a night from now on, and his resolve only firmed when he realised Snape's expression was nearing a smirk. The git was laughing at him!

Twice a night and every morning, then.

* * *

Poliakoff was becoming a regular tagalong. He sat next to Harry at every meal, and when they weren't in classes or the Slytherin common room, he managed to find Harry, Blaise and Pansy, and join them in whatever they were doing. He didn't seem to have discovered the library and Harry's Gryffindor friends yet, for which Harry was somewhat relieved.

Poliakoff wasn't a bad guy. He was just a very persistent sort, and somehow _always there._

"Hello Harry," Poliakoff said, and proved Harry's point about his constant presence by appearing in the courtyard one morning where Harry and his friends were talking. "There is a Hogsmede weekend soon."

"This weekend, right," Harry agreed. Draco was across the courtyard with several of the older Slytherins, and Harry could tell by the twist of his mouth that he was saying something cruel. One of the older boys glanced in Harry's direction and he looked away, instead focussing on Poliakoff's ever eager gaze.

"Have you been to Hogsmede yet?" Pansy asked, always courteous. Blaise and Pansy considered Poliakoff to be something of a nuisance, and blamed Harry for his existence entirely. Whenever he appeared, they were unfailingly polite, but it was clear they wanted nothing to do with him.

"I have not," Poliakoff said eagerly, looking around at them all. "I would enjoy the sights, I think."

Blaise nodded. "Great. So I didn't understand problem four," he told Pansy, and they went back to talking about their Arithmancy homework. Harry felt this was terminally unfair, and tried to avoid Poliakoff's hopeful gaze.

"Er, I'm actually not going to Hogsmede this weekend," he said truthfully. He had moved his Filch day to Sundays this year, and Saturdays were reserved for relaxing and meetings in the library. He knew Draco was going on Saturday, which was the tipping point. Harry went last Hogsmede weekend, anyway.

Poliakoff's face fell. "Oh, okay," he said, and Harry felt an inexplicable guilt well up in him.

"Maybe next time?" he asked, and then cursed himself mentally. Poliakoff's eyes brightened, and he nodded.

"Next time," he said, and nodded again. Harry nodded back, and Poliakoff wandered off, satisfied.

"I don't like him," Pansy said once he was out of earshot. "He's seventeen years old, but he attaches himself to us. Do you know what that says to me?"

"That he can't make friends his own age?" Blaise asked. "Not surprising."

"I don't know," Harry said, and backtracked quickly at the looks the two of them were giving him. "I mean, I do agree that he's odd, and probably doesn't have many friends, but he's not half bad."

"He's attaching himself to you because you're the Boy-Who-Lived," Pansy pointed out. "He probably thinks you'll make him look cool or something. Merlin knows he needs the help."

Harry tilted his head back to stare at the sky. "You're probably right," he said. "But I don't know how to get rid of him, now."

"Harry," Blaise said, enunciating carefully. "You. Are. A. _Slytherin_. Act like it."

"He's not a dotty Ravenclaw who, at worst, gets picked on by other, slightly less dotty Ravenclaws," Pansy said, somewhat sharply. "He gets rejected on what appears to be a fairly regular basis by people who go to _Durmstrang_. He can take whatever you can throw at him."

Pansy was probably right. But Harry didn't _like_ rejecting people, especially when they were used to it. It seemed cruel, when he could just be nice and somewhat distant instead. He had always preferred it when people were polite about not wanting to be his friend, instead of rubbing it in his face and probably making fun of him behind his back.

A burst of laughter from across the courtyard made Harry hunch his shoulders and turn his attention resolutely to the conversation Pansy and Blaise were having about Arithmancy.

* * *

"Well honestly, Harry, I hate to say this, but maybe you're better off."

Harry glared at Hermione. There were sitting in the library, and Harry had been complaining about Draco. This was not the response he had expected or desired.

"What do you mean, I'm better off?" he asked. "Draco is being an absolute prick. How does that make me better off?"

Neville added his opinion from behind his Transfiguration book. "I don't know if you noticed, Harry, but he's pretty much always like that at the start of term."

Harry sighed. "I know. Last time we fought about it he said it was his father putting pressure on him."

"I don't mean to... get in the middle of things," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "But do you know much about his father?"

"Not much," Harry admitted. "Nothing good, anyway. I know he doesn't like Muggleborns and that he might have been one of the people levitating those Muggles at the Cup."

"You heard the fight in the forest, then," Neville said. "I thought maybe. You looked way too cheerful."

Harry nodded, grimacing.

"I just wonder if you and Draco both might be happier this way, in the end." Hermione continued. "He distances himself from you when he's trying to please his father."

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "You think Draco's dad doesn't want Draco being my friend?"

"I think it's possible. Ron thinks Draco's father was a Death Eater."

Harry sat back, stunned. "What?" he said dumbly. "Do you think so?"

"He said he was a victim after You-Know-Who fell," Neville said. "I heard about it from my Gram. She said he was put on trial for helping You-Know-Who, and got off because he was under Imperius."

"Right," Harry said faintly. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't have a clue. I don't really know anything about him. But if he is putting pressure on Draco to avoid you, then Draco's going to have to choose between the two of you eventually."

"You think he already has," Harry said, slumping. "You think he's chosen his father."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know," she repeated. "Just think about it."

Harry nodded, and stood up. "I will," he said. "I'm going to go say hello to Anthony and Luna, then I'm going back to Slytherin," he said. Hermione and Neville said their goodbyes and bent their heads together as Harry walked over to Anthony's table.

"Hullo," Harry said. Luna glanced up at him from the parchment she was writing on and waved her quill at him. Harry looked at the lines on the page and realised she was actually drawing. "What's that?" he asked.

"That torch bracket," she said, showing the drawing to him. It was indeed a torch bracket. She pointed at the far wall, and Harry saw one hanging there.

"It's really good," he said, wondering why she was drawing it from such a distance. It was detailed enough that Harry began to wonder exactly how bad his eyesight was. He would have had to stand right in front of it to see everything she'd drawn.

"Thank you," Luna said, and went back to drawing. Harry watched. She and Anthony made quite a pair, outwardly frozen and blank as they focused on their inner thoughts. It was almost disturbing how infrequently Anthony actually moved, as he had recently discovered a spell that would turn pages for him.

Harry had seen Anthony active before, and knew it was possible. He had forced that Ravenclaw onto a broom and had been astonished at how quick Anthony could be. It made watching him frozen in the library all the more eerie.

Harry supposed Anthony's thoughts must have been moving so quickly that his body had to slow down to balance out the velocity. Or something like that. He'd seen Hermione freeze up when she got a really brilliant idea before, so he figured the theory had merit.

His thoughts turned to his mind clearing exercises. If he was right, then large amounts of exercise should make his brain slow down. But then why would Snape want him to clear his mind right before he went to sleep, when he should be relaxed?

He caught Anthony's attention and repeated these thoughts. Anthony actually put his book down to consider it, which made Harry feel somewhat proud. He had said something that was more interesting than a book. Then he realised that he had just felt smug for being better than a book and tried to forget.

"It's an idea, Harry," Anthony said. "But I think you have it wrong. Jumping up and down and running in circles isn't really going to clear your mind. It'll just make you ignore it for a while."

"If quick thinking makes you slow down, then slow thinking should make you speed up," Luna said, still doodling.

"Which means that people should do stupid things quickly," Anthony agreed, the corners of his mouth lifting. "That sounds about right."

"It does make sense," Luna said. "Wrackspurts make the brain fuzzy, and people with Wrackspurt infestations tend to become reckless and quick to anger."

"Right," Harry said, feeling confused. Then he saw Anthony scribbling on a scrap of parchment. Anthony only wrote down what Luna said when he also had no idea what she was talking about. It was somewhat reassuring. "So if exercise isn't going to help, how am I supposed to clear my mind?" Harry asked, getting back on topic.

"You need to focus, but not think." Luna paused in her drawing and actually looked at him as she spoke.

Harry stared back. His face was apparently as blank with incomprehension as his mind was, because Anthony snickered and said, "Yes, just like that."

Harry smiled despite himself. "Honestly though, any ideas? I don't have a clue what I'm doing. Snape keeps telling me I'm doing it wrong. He's terrible at explaining things. He just keeps saying, 'Clear your mind! Then: You're doing it wrong!' over and over and over."

Luna set her quill down and unclasped one of her necklaces. It was a long, fine chain with several bottle caps strung on it. She began to twist the chain and wrap it around and through and over itself until it was hopelessly tangled. Then she handed it to Harry.

"Untangle that," she instructed. "But bring it back, eventually."

Anthony spared Luna an incomprehensible glance, and looked expectantly at Harry.

"If you keep it in your pocket, it'll get worse," he said. "You'll never get it untangled."

Harry frowned at him. "I wasn't going to put it in my pocket."

"I meant that you should," Anthony told him, and went back to his book.


	39. The Task

The First Task was on a Tuesday toward the end of November. Pansy and Harry were crowded into the stands with the rest of Hogwarts and the representatives of the other schools. There was a whole other section of stands for the general wizarding public on the opposite side of the huge arena, and large, covered cages directly adjacent. A tent stood opposite the cages, where the Champions were no doubt making last minute preparations for what lay ahead.

"Where's Blaise?" Pansy asked, again. Harry shrugged and searched the crowd, again. Hermione and the other Gryffindors had agreed to sit with them as well, and it was getting difficult for Harry and Pansy to hold seats for five other people by themselves. As the stands filled, the filthy glances only became more obvious. Pansy had resorted to ordering Harry to sit with his legs taking up several seats, and had placed her bag on the bench an indecent distance away.

"He said he'd be along in just a minute," Harry grumbled, and glanced around again, hoping that 'speak of the devil' would apply and Blaise would just appear. Instead, it was another five minutes of being slowly edged out of their extra five seats before he finally showed up.

"Where have you been?" Harry demanded, moving his feet gratefully as a sixth year Hufflepuff tried to sit on them. "Bugger off," he said, and Pansy beamed with approval.

Blaise sat where the Hufflepuff had been only moments before, and their paltry three seats rose back to five. "I was dealing with some business," he said. "Ludo Bagman offered me a deal I couldn't refuse."

"Ludo Bagman?" Harry asked. "The one who was taking bets by the lake?"

Blaise grinned. "Exactly. He's from the Ministry, you know."

"How much did you bet, then?" Pansy asked, clearly unimpressed.

"Twenty five thousand galleons, on Diggory." He looked like he'd just bribed his way onto the Wizengamot. Harry's mouth fell open.

"Why?" he asked, feeling as though he would have spluttered if he wasn't so shocked.

Blaise continued preening like a particularly smug cat. "It's a win/win situation," he said. "Bagman ran into problems with goblins after the World Cup. He looked pretty desperate when you saw him, didn't he?"

Harry nodded, though admittedly his attention had been more focused elsewhere.

"I bet him just enough to cover his losses, and I gave him odds he couldn't refuse." Blaise grinned. "He couldn't say no. And now, he can't let himself lose. He'll try to rig the Tournament for sure, any way he can."

Pansy cottoned on immediately, if her expression was anything to go by. Harry got it as well, a second later.

"You're going to blackmail him?" he asked.

"If possible," Blaise said, shrugging. "He might just get caught. Or, who knows? Diggory might actually win. Then he'll be in real trouble. Mum doesn't like it when people don't pay their debts."

Pansy snickered. "Clever, Blaise," she said. "I hope it works out."

Harry smiled reluctantly. "Why, though?" he asked. "Why get involved at all?"

Blaise shrugged. "It's an opportunity. Blackmail material is nearly always useful, and if he gets caught, that's his own problem. If he has to deal with my mother, well, she'll have a use for him."

Pansy accepted this with a nod, but Harry had been in Slytherin for too long, and spent too much time being told how terrible he was at it, to miss the glance Blaise gave her. He raised his eyebrows at Blaise, and cast a sidelong glance at Pansy.

Blaise's expression was suitably impressed. He nodded, and an expression of wrath flashed across his face. Harry tried very hard to think of what Bagman could possibly have done to Pansy that would warrant Blaise's attempt to ruin him. Pansy certainly wasn't aware of any of Bagman's sins against her, else she'd have attempted her own revenge by now.

Harry resolved to ask later, and resumed searching the crowd for the rest of their group. Ron's vivid red hair was almost immediately recognizable, and after spotting Hermione's bushy head nearby, Harry excused himself to bring them back.

Fighting his way through the crowd and out of the stands was enough of a distraction for him to lose them completely by the time he reached the grass. He made himself as tall as possible to try to see over the bustling crowd of people, and jumped when someone touched his arm.

"Harry," a voice exclaimed, and the accent told Harry exactly who it was. He sighed and turned around to greet Poliakoff with a half-hearted smile.

"Hi," Harry said. "Aren't you supposed to be sitting with everyone else from Durmstrang?"

"Oh, yes," Poliakoff said. "I just saw you and wanted to say hello. What do you think the Task is going to be? I cannot wait to see."

"Me either," Harry said. "Hey, do you see a really tall redhead anywhere nearby? You're tall enough to see over this crowd."

Poliakoff glanced around. "I don't think so," he said. "I have not talked to you in a long time, Harry." He looked hurt, and Harry felt guilty again. Poliakoff was good at making him feel like that.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been pretty busy lately." Poliakoff continued watching him with that hangdog expression, and Harry shifted his weight onto his other foot uncomfortably. "So, uh, what do you think the Task is going to be?" he asked lamely.

"Oh, I hope it is something exciting," Poliakoff said, suddenly eager again. "I hope the judges will allow Dark spells. We learn them at Durmstrang, you know. I do not understand why they are not allowed here at Hogwarts."

Harry blinked. "Because, well, they're illegal in England," he said. "Mostly. I think. I know the Unforgivables are, anyway."

"The Unforgivables?" Poliakoff scoffed. "Why they are even called that, I do not know. They are spells, just like any other."

Harry frowned, stepping closer as someone jostled him. "My parents were killed by an Unforgivable," he said. "If you knew who I was before you met me, I would have thought you would be aware of that. It's kind of why I'm so well known."

Poliakoff shrugged. "Yes, and that is terrible, but that is only one use of one of them. Dark magic is just a different kind of power, and more spells to use."

It might have just been the casual way Poliakoff dismissed Harry's parents, but Harry wasn't biting. "Actually," he said curtly, "I'm pretty sure they're classified as curses, not spells."

Poliakoff frowned down at him, the way Harry had seen him frown at dinner over a steak that he was having difficulty cutting into.

"I cannot hear you very well," he said finally. "It is very loud here. I think we are miscommunicating."

Harry regarded him with cool eyes. "I don't think we are," he said, and stepped back from the conversation, looking pointedly at the now thinning crowd. "The Task is going to start soon. I should go find my friends."

Poliakoff glanced around again. "You were looking for a tall red haired person?" His tone was conciliatory, and though Harry was still feeling irate, he nodded. "I saw him head in this direction." Poliakoff led an unwilling Harry away from the crowd, toward the back of the stands where the stairs to the higher levels stood.

There were less people back here. Everyone else had probably already found seats. In fact, it was just Harry, Poliakoff, and an older blonde woman who didn't look at all like she belonged in the student section. Poliakoff seemed annoyed at her presence, and moved to block Harry from view.

Despite his efforts, she had already spotted them, and sped over with a wide smile which contained several gold teeth. She swept Poliakoff aside as though he didn't exist and addressed Harry directly.

"Harry!" She smiled at him again and lifted her arms as though to hug him, though she didn't. Harry was incredibly grateful. "Harry, it's so good to finally see you in person, at last!"

"Er," Harry said. "Hello."

"Oh, but introductions must be made, of course." The woman brought her hands together in front of her chest and clutched the handles of the alligator handbag that swung from one of them, as though she had never been more pleased about anything. "I am, as I'm sure you know, Rita Skeeter! We spoke last year about the dementors and that lovely godfather of yours, the poor dear. You may call me Rita."

Harry remembered what he had been told about Rita Skeeter. She was as fake as her teeth. Between Poliakoff's surly expression and Skeeter's toothy grin, Harry decided that, right now, this was the last place he wanted to be. Hermione and the rest had probably long since found Blaise and Pansy. He should never have gotten out of his seat.

Even so, he figured he had to at least try to be polite. She 'd helped him significantly.

"Lovely to meet you, ma'am," he said, forcing himself to smile.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," she replied, and snapped open her handbag. "Now, I was thinking. We haven't spoken in so long. How about an interview? What do you think of all this Triwizard business? Do you know the Hogwarts Champion very well? What do you think of the other Champions? The public doesn't know very much about you, Harry, but we can change that."

Harry blinked several times. While firing question after question at him, she had managed to produce a roll of parchment and a quill, which she positioned in midair next to her. It was scribbling away madly as she continued to speak.

"How about a follow-up to last year's expose? How are you and your godfather getting along now that he's a free man? I hear you spent the summer with him."

"Erm," Harry interjected. "I'm not really interested in how much the public knows about me."

Rita raised a delicately tweezed eyebrow. "Oh, Harry, don't be so shy," she said cajolingly. "Who is this lovely young man with you? A friend of yours?" She eyed Poliakoff, who stepped backward almost convulsively. "Durmstrang, are you? And you're in Slytherin, aren't you, Harry? You two hit it off, did you?"

"I should be going," Poliakoff said, and backed away until he reached the stairs, leaving Harry alone to his fate. Harry had never liked him less, even when he'd been spouting about Dark magic.

"Look, the Task is starting soon," Harry said, backing toward the stairs himself. "I should really be getting back to my seat."

Rita pursed her heavily painted lips. "We'll get that interview in afterward, then?"

"Er, no," Harry said. "Why don't you interview the Champions? They ought to have something to say, right?"

He didn't wait for her to answer, vaulting up the stairs and leaving her alone, quill still scribbling furiously.

On his way back to his seat, he had to pass right by where Draco sat, surrounded by his new group and laughing. When the dragons were finally revealed, Harry almost wanted one of them to set the stands on fire, just so that he wouldn't be the only one in a bad mood.

* * *

Diggory came out with the best score in the end, something Blaise was intensely satisfied about.

"Bagman'll be panicking right about now," he assured them. "He can't let Diggory win the Tournament. I'll have to owl mum about keeping an eye on him."

Pansy shook her head, smiling. "Blaise, you're such a bastard," she said. Blaise preened.

"Well," he said, glancing away and lowering his eyes, which failed to hide his smirk, "Yes I am. Thank you for noticing."

"And he's so modest, too," Pansy continued. Harry sighed quietly. Pansy and Blaise did this sometimes. He knew it could go on for hours if he didn't stop them now.

"Remember when the Beauxbaton Champion's dragon snored and set her on fire?"

Pansy and Blaise looked over at Harry, and Blaise laughed. "Yeah, and then she tried to put it out with her wand and nearly woke it up. That was my favourite part."

"What about Diggory?" Pansy asked. "Delacour only had her skirt set on fire. He had half his face flaming at one point."

"That was kind of funny," Blaise agreed. "He flailed and everything. I don't know how he got the highest marks."

"He got highest marks because Krum's dragon stepped on half the eggs," Harry said. "And Delacour took longer putting out her skirt than Diggory did putting out his face."

"Well I should think he had a lot more incentive," said Pansy. "She can fix the skirt fairly easily. Diggory's face is another matter. It's too pretty to be marred with all those burns."

"Pomfrey wouldn't let the Hufflepuff's precious face go untreated for very long," Blaise said. "She's probably half done treating him already. Harry, when are you and Draco going to start talking again?"

Harry's easy reply about Diggory's 'precious' face died when he registered Blaise's question. He glanced around and, sure enough, there was Draco, walking with the older Slytherins.

"We talk sometimes," Harry said. "Just yesterday he asked me to pass him the butter at dinner."

Pansy raised her eyebrow. "He asked_ Poliakoff _to pass him the butter, Harry. And you acted like you hadn't heard him, anyway."

"We'd like to be able to talk to both of you sometimes," Blaise said. "You know, at the same time, preferably in the same room? He was looking at you just now. You should talk to him."

Harry craned his head past a group of Ravenclaws and eyed Draco, who was decidedly not looking at him. "I'll talk to him when he talks to me," he said after a moment. "I'm not the one who cut off contact."

"It's November," Pansy said firmly. "Thats nearly three months since term started, and you haven't spoken the entire time. It's not about who started it anymore. Blaise and I want it finished, for all our sakes."

Harry glared sullenly at the back of Draco's head. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"Yes, actually," Blaise responded. "He wants to talk to you again." Blaise's earnest expression faltered under the waves of skepticism pouring off of Harry. "Well, he didn't say exactly that," Blaise backpedaled. "But I could tell."

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't want to talk to me. If he changes his mind, he can tell me himself. Until then, I'm not going to fight it."

A group of Durmstrang boys cut off their view of Draco, and Harry turned away.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was not pleasant.

"What did you do, Harry?" Pansy whispered, dismayed. She, Blaise and Harry were all sitting on the same side of the table huddled around a newspaper, reading one of the front page articles with increasing horror.

"I just told her I wasn't interested in publicity and to interview the Champions instead," Harry replied, struck dumb. "I had no idea she'd -"

"Why on earth not?" Blaise cut him off, shaking his head at a particularly biting paragraph. "We told you about her. We told you not to piss her off. You've seen what she can do with that quill of hers."

It wasn't the top story, but that only meant that the headline was one inch tall instead of two. The headline, **POTTER: DURMSTRANG/DARK ARTS ADMIRER? **was blazoned across the right half of the page. Harry had spent the past ten minutes grimacing every time someone glanced at him. Poliakoff hadn't even shown up to breakfast, which was odd, considering he wasn't even mentioned by name in the article. He probably just didn't want to face Harry after getting him caught by Skeeter.

"She is good at alliteration, anyway," Harry muttered. "How bad is it?"

"It's bad," Pansy told him. "You should probably read it."

Harry put his head down on the table. "Bugger. What did I _do_?"

"Well," Blaise said, and cleared his throat. "Apparently you're '_very close with the Durmstrang students, as this reporter has spotted them talking together on more than one occasion._' You also have '_in-depth discussions of the Dark Arts, which, as we all know, are quite illegal in the UK_'."

"That's what I said!" Harry exclaimed. "How does she even know about that? We weren't talking about it when she showed up."

"Harry, it's _Rita Skeeter_," Pansy reminded him. "You know, you should really sit up and read the rest of this. She pointed out that you're in Slytherin again. Third time so far in this article."

"Bint," Blaise said. "She was in Slytherin too, you know."

"Why am I not surprised?" Harry asked in a monotone. "What else is she saying?"

"She's insinuating that you're considering a transfer to Durmstrang, so you can learn more Dark Arts," Pansy said. "And..." She paused. "She's also implying that you're not as opposed to the Dark Lord as we all think."

"No wonder they're all staring at me," Harry groaned. It was true. Those who receieved the Daily Prophet had begun passing it around, and nearby Hufflepuffs were watching him fearfully.

"It's just Hufflepuffs," Blaise said comfortingly. "Don't worry about them; no one else does."

It turned out to be more than just the Hufflepuffs. By Harry's first class, it seemed that everyone had read the Prophet. The Ravenclaws' narrow eyed suspicion wasn't quite as bad as Flitwick falling off his chair when Harry passed by, but it was close enough. Only Anthony acted normally, but normal for Anthony meant ignoring Harry anyway, unless he struck up conversation. If Harry had been unaware of Anthony's plans to eventually read the entire world, he would have doubted whether Anthony even knew what the problem was.

Lunch was worse, though. His yearmates had mostly left him alone during class, but the House in its entirety was not so kind, and neither were the other Durmstrang students, who laughed uproariously at the idea of Harry learning anything Dark through contact with Poliakoff, of all people. It seemed that, rather than improving Poliakoff's reputation, his association with the Boy-Who-Lived had only brought Harry down to his level.

Harry soon gave up on lunch, and left early. His next class was DADA, and he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Moody's paranoia, on top of everything else. So when he heard his name being called, he hunched his shoulders and walked faster.

"Harry, wait," the voice said impatiently, and Harry recognised it.

He turned around and gave Draco a cool stare. "Are we talking again all of a sudden?"

Draco caught up to him and stopped, eying him thoughtfully. "Can we? Preferably not in the middle of a corridor? I want to ask you about that article."

Harry's face darkened. "Just say whatever you want to say. I don't need this from you, too."

"How true is it?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

Harry frowned. "It's Rita Skeeter. That should answer your question."

"There's always some truth to what she says," Draco disagreed. "Where's the truth? How often do you talk to that Poliakoff guy?"

"As often as I want," Harry said, feeling defensive. "You'd _know_ if you ever _talked_ to me -"

"Are you really getting into Dark Arts?" Draco interrupted. Harry bristled.

"Of course not!"

"Look, I've heard things about that guy," Draco began. Harry cut him off.

"Yeah, I know, no one likes him," he said. "Not my problem."

"No, I mean weird things," Draco said, and glanced down the hall. "Strange things. Just stay away from him. Stay away from all the Durmstrang students, actually."

This whole conversation was frustrating Harry to no end. Draco was finally speaking to him, only to spend the entire time lecturing as if Harry was a child. "What gives you the right?" he snapped furiously. "You don't even talk to me anymore -"

"Harry-"

"No." He glared at Draco, who just looked exasperated. It was infuriating. "You ignore me for three months, and only talk to me again when Rita Skeeter starts telling everyone I like Voldemort." Draco flinched, and Harry sneered. "I heard about your father, you know," he said. "That he was a Death Eater. Maybe that's why you're talking to me again."

Draco's mouth dropped open, and Harry glared at him. "I'll talk to whoever I want." He turned to leave, then paused. "And if you want to apologise, you should do it quickly, before I transfer to Durmstrang like Skeeter said."


	40. The Race

"_Constant vigilance_!"

Harry knew he should be prepared to hear Moody's catchphrase whenever he came within a hundred feet of the Defense classroom, but he was still angry about the conversation he'd just had with Draco, and he was distracted.

He managed to keep himself from actually startling, though Pansy and Blaise, who had caught up to him about five minutes before class, glanced at him. Maybe he hadn't been as subtle as he'd hoped.

"Today," Moody said as everyone took their seats and pulled out their books, "You're going to learn how to keep yourselves concealed when you're on enemy territory."

"And how often, exactly, does he think I intend to wander onto enemy territory?" Pansy murmured under cover of the rest of Moody's lecture.

"And do you think the practical is going to involve portkeying us into Snape's office unawares?" Blaise whispered back. Harry remained silent.

"Not hardly. We Slytherins are more likely to be sent to his private quarters. I don't think it'd matter what House we're in if we caught him in the bath."

Harry paused in his brooding to join Blaise in grimacing at Pansy, and the three of them took a moment to shudder in unison.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment. "I didn't...I'm sorry."

"The Disillusionment Charm is one of the more commonly used methods of concealment in a wizard's arsenal," Moody told them. "So we'll practice that first. Everyone partner up. You'll be casting this on yourselves, and your partner is going to try to hit you with the stinging hex. Your job is to keep out of their sights."

One of the Ravenclaw girls raised their hands. "What if someone who isn't our partner hits us?"

Moody raised his eyebrows. "Then you're hit, aren't you? You'd do best to keep an eye out from all angles. Wizards won't avoid attacking you in battle because you aren't who they were aiming for initially." He glared around at them all. "And the rest of you should be keeping your eye out for friendly fire as well. If anyone's hit, they're out, Disillusioned or no."

"Right," Pansy said, turning to Harry. "Do you want to attack first or shall I?"

"Both sound like so much fun," he said, "I don't know how I'll choose."

"Well, I guess I'll attack first then," she decided, smirking at him. "Off you go. I do hope you were listening when he told us the incantation."

Harry hadn't been listening. It was only his good fortune that he _had _bothered to open the book up to the right page, and was able to glance down at it before they got up.

"Of course I was listening." He walked over to the side of the room where the rest of the soon-to-be-disillusioned students were going, and listened to the Ravenclaw next to him as he said the spell. Just in case.

Somehow, Harry was the only one of his friends to have ended up on this side of the room, he noted as the spells began to fly. He wasn't sure how Moody expected them to avoid being hit, with that many spells being thrown at them at a time. Harry saw Blaise cackle as his spell hit the Ravenclaw boy. Harry decided to get low and keep moving.

It wasn't difficult to see his fellow attackees. Apparently, this was a spell that only worked if you moved cautiously. Whenever someone panicked and started running, most of the class would focus on the blurred shadow of their form, and take them out. It was just a mild stinging hex (or at least Harry hoped everyone had been sticking to the stinging hex), but still.

He did the only thing he could think to do, and started moving toward his attackers. Inching along the wall was impossible; too many spells were bouncing off them randomly. He'd be hit for sure. Harry saw Draco taking aim about ten feet to his left, and considered what Moody had said about friendly fire. Did it count as friendly if they hadn't been friends for months? Probably not, but Harry thought he could get away with it anyway. He checked to make sure Moody wasn't watching before sending a stinging hex Draco's way and grinning when Draco jumped and glared at the students around him.

Feeling inordinately better, Harry started moving toward the Ravenclaw side of the line, and saw Anthony standing on the end, near the wall. Perfect. As he inched toward him, moving in a half crouch on his toes and fingertips, he saw Anthony glance away, toward the other end of the room.

It was now or never. He managed to slip past Anthony and move safely among the desks, watching the backs of the attacking students. He was safe. Harry sighed in relief and leaned against a desk, only to jump back up as he felt a sharp sting on his shoulder. He took the spell off and looked around to see who had gotten him.

"Sorry, Harry," Anthony said, shrugging and turning back to the rest of the class. "Constant vigilance."

* * *

"Potter," Moody said at the end of class, "Stay in your seat."

Harry stopped packing his things up and frowned. Pansy gave him a curious look as she and Blaise put their things away and left with the rest of the class.

Moody limped over to where Harry sat at his desk, feeling nervous. "Do you know the definition of 'friendly fire', Potter?" Moody asked gruffly.

Harry felt his stomach drop slightly. Moody had a magical eye. Of course he would have seen. Harry looked down at his desk and nodded. "Yes sir."

Moody stared at him for a few inscrutable moments, and Harry waited for his punishment.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, boy," he said finally. Harry looked up at Moody, who was staring at him with both eyes now. "Your first instinct is to attack and to get out of the line of fire, to where your opponent didn't expect you. If this had been a real battle, you would have taken it with those tactics. Do you know what you did wrong?"

Harry began to hope that he was going to get out of this without punishment. "I didn't practice constant vigilance, sir?" he tried.

"That's right," Moody said, then barked, "_CONSTANT _vigilance." He seemed to take enjoyment from Harry's flinch. "You have a good idea of who you shouldn't trust, but that needs to be taken a step further," Moody said, leaning back against the desk behind him.

Harry wasn't quite sure he knew what Moody meant, but he had an inkling. "Sir?"

"The Malfoy boy's history speaks for itself." Moody's blue eye disappeared for a few seconds, then fixed itself back on Harry. He tried hard not to think about how eerie that was. "Durmstrang would have welcomed him with open arms. _Constant vigilance_, Potter."

He dismissed Harry, who went out into the hallway still wondering how to respond to that. Having the door closed in his face solved that problem, so Harry went on to his next class, still pensive.

* * *

Harry sought out the Quidditch pitch after his classes were over for the day. It was cold and windy, but they sky was clear and he wanted to fly off the stress of the morning.

As he passed the lake, he saw that he wasn't the only one out on a broom. Several Durmstrang students were flying above the water, doing dangerous stunts and laughing raucously.

As Harry watched, one of them leapt to his feet - on the broom - and did a swan dive into the deepest part of the lake. Another flyer dove and scooped his broom out of the air before it hit the water, and they all cheered.

Harry watched until the diver resurfaced and somehow managed to remount his broom, dripping wet, in the cold November wind. The boy was only wearing swim trunks. Harry hadn't realised before, because it hadn't occurred to him that someone would _do_ something like that in late November.

They were all insane. That was all there was to it. Harry shook his head and continued on to the empty Quidditch pitch. He was able to spend about ten minutes flying before he realised he wasn't alone at all.

There was a figure holding a broom and waving at him from the sidelines, and Harry couldn't quite make out who it was. As he dipped nearer, he realised the person's height cancelled out any of his friends, and their robes weren't Hogwarts attire.

"Hello Poliakoff," Harry said grudgingly as he reached the ground.

"Hello Harry." Poliakoff stared at the ground for a moment, then met Harry's eyes squarely. "I apologise for my words yesterday. I was..how do you say…out of line."

Poliakoff seemed genuinely apologetic, which was more than Harry could say of some people he'd had arguments with recently.

"I don't like Dark Magic," Harry said. Poliakoff nodded. "I don't like being abandoned to obnoxious reporters either." Poliakoff nodded again, contrite.

"I apologise," he repeated. Harry sighed. Pansy was going to kill him.

"Yeah fine."

Poliakoff brightened immediately. "Do you want to fly?"

Harry hesitated. "Are you planning to drag me out over the lake and push me off my broom?"

Poliakoff grinned. "If you do not want to go swimming, we can surf instead."

"Listen," Harry told him. "This weather is _cold_. You Durmstrang types might be used to worse, but at Hogwarts we don't exactly consider negative two balmy. I don't even want to look at the lake right now."

"I didn't mean to surf on the lake," Poliakoff explained, lifting his broom. "I meant in the skies. Come, watch."

Poliakoff mounted his broom and, staying near to the ground, went out into the middle of the pitch. Harry watched him curiously. With extreme care, Poliakoff lifted himself into a crouching position on the broom, and finally stood triumphantly. Harry looked on with interest as Poliakoff used his feet to steer the broom into a patch of wind, at which point he crouched slightly and allowed the wind to carry him halfway across the pitch.

As he passed Harry, he called out to him. "Harry, try it, it is fun!"

Harry couldn't help himself. He mounted his broom and imitated Poliakoff's slightly hunched posture, standing upright. After a few false starts, he figured out how to keep himself balanced and steer with his feet without tipping over and crashing. He was glad none of the Durmstrang boys had realised they were over here, or he would probably have drawn a lot of mocking laughter for some of his more spectacular faceplants.

But soon he was up next to Poliakoff, soaring on the wind.

"This is great!" Harry yelled as he caught a current and sailed past Poliakoff. "I didn't know people did stuff like this!"

They surfed on the lower currents in the Quidditch field, and Poliakoff showed Harry how to turn left and right and even widdershins without falling off. Harry's Firebolt dutifully followed his every movement, even through his boots.

Harry got used to having even less than he was used to between him and the ground, far below. This was the euphoria of flying coupled with a healthy dose of the fear he'd never really developed of heights. The adrenaline rush alone was worth it, in Harry's opinion.

"We have races at Durmstrang," Poliakoff yelled to him. They had long since left the Quidditch pitch, soaring higher and higher to catch better wind currents. "Do you want to try?"

"Sure," Harry called back, and they agreed to race to the edge of the forest. Harry bent his knees slightly as Poliakoff counted down from what Harry assumed was three in what he also assumed was Bulgarian. When he reached one (Harry could tell because Poliakoff yelled it and then took off), Harry jumped into the wind current directly above their heads and lifted his arms to keep himself balanced.

They raced furiously, each leaping and ducking from one current to the next when they veered too far off course. Harry ended up winning by a mile, and tilted the front of his broom up to balance on the tail while he waited for Poliakoff to catch up.

"It is because you are so tiny," Poliakoff told him when he finally made it to their designated end point. "The wind does not catch you like it catches me."

Harry chose to ignore this slight and grinned instead. "Tell yourself whatever you need to," he said. "Want to try again?"

Poliakoff agreed, and they raced again. Harry won again. When Poliakoff reached the end point, he dove down a few metres above the treetops and waited for Harry to join him. "One more try," he said, panting slightly. "We can race to that tree out there." He pointed.

Harry shifted his weight and looked out at the tree Poliakoff was indicating. It was one of the taller evergreens in the forest, and quite a distance away. As Harry watched, a gust of wind buffeted the tree. A fleck of snow landed on Harry's glasses, and he frowned, suddenly uneasy.

"How far are we, anyway?"

"Not very far," Poliakoff said dismissively. "We go further all the time. Do you want to race?"

Another, larger snowflake landed on his other eyeglass, obscuring his vision. He balanced himself carefully as he reached up and cleaned it off. He didn't want to race if the weather was going to betray them. "It's starting to snow. We've got to be nearly as far as Hogsmeade."

"We are still on the grounds," Poliakoff said, and pointed. "Hogwarts is right there, see?"

Harry looked at the castle in the distance, then back at Poliakoff. He raised a sceptical eyebrow. "It's much further away than that tree. Let's race back instead. Then we can go inside and warm up."

Poliakoff followed as Harry started flying toward the castle, though he looked annoyed. "We will do this, then." He sighed. "Englishmen."

Harry laughed at him incredulously. "It's snowing! I can't feel my face. You have to admit it's cold now."

"I admit you think it is cold," Poliakoff corrected, slowing down and lowering himself carefully back into a sitting position. Harry imitated him.

"Let's race to Hogwarts," Harry suggested, and when Poliakoff nodded, Harry sped off on his Firebolt. He really wanted to get out of this weather.

As Harry neared the castle, a snowy owl detached itself from the owlrey and flew toward him. He landed near the front steps and held out his arm for her, taking the letter. Poliakoff landed nearby and waited as Harry thanked Whitey and watched her fly away again.

Harry smiled when he recognised Sirius' handwriting on the scroll. "I'll see you around, Poliakoff," Harry said. "I've got to read this."

Harry tore open the scroll as Poliakoff said his goodbyes and started walking back toward the Durmstrang ship.

_Harry,_

_It was good to hear from you again, as usual. Remus says hello, as usual…_

Harry grinned. Most letters from Sirius started off along these lines. He stepped inside as he read, because it really was cold outside. He leaned against the wall in the Entrance Hall, reading through Sirius' responses to what Harry had said in his last letter, and made a note of some of the hints about the Maurader's Map. His smile started to fade, however, when he realised he'd mentioned Draco, and that Sirius responded.

…_I obviously don't have all the information, but I think your friend Hermione may have a point…_

Harry frowned outright as he continued reading. Sirius confirmed that Lucius Malfoy had been tried, but got off by pleading Imperius. He sounded somewhat sceptical of the truth value in that, though it was the next few lines that really caught Harry's attention.

…_I don't know very much about Lucius, we only ever met in passing. But I remember when we were younger, Narcissa was very talented at convincing my aunt (her mother) that she'd done nothing wrong, even with the evidence right in front of Aunt Druella's eyes. She usually got me in trouble, in fact. It doesn't surprise me that she'd marry someone with the same talent. She could convince Uncle Cygnus that me or Andromeda or Bellatrix had been at fault, even if we weren't in the house at the time. Of course, Bellatrix made it easy for her. She always had a quick temper, even before Azkaban…_

Sirius continued in his reminiscing for a few more paragraphs, which wasn't unusual, then asked about school and the Tournament and how Harry was faring without Quidditch. Harry continued reading to the end, then went back to those paragraphs that talked about Draco's family. He hadn't know Sirius was related to the Malfoys.

It seemed like everyone had something to say about Draco's father, though, and none of it was good. No one thought Harry's ex-friendship with Draco was advisable. Harry folded up the letter, stuck it in his pocket, and left the Entrance Hall. All things considered, it didn't matter anyway. Draco had already made the decision for them both.

Harry soon found himself at the doors of the library without having meant to end up there. He went inside, and immediately spotted Anthony at his usual seat.

"Thanks for attacking me earlier in class," Anthony said when Harry sat down. "You know, we weren't actually partners. You were supposed to be aiming for Pansy."

Harry grinned, inexplicably cheered by Anthony's sour expression. "You got me."

Anthony shook his head. "I didn't _know_ it was you. And it was supposed to be a _mild_ stinging hex, Harry."

"I'm sorry," Harry said unrepentantly. Anthony never struck up conversation first. Harry considered it a huge step for him, even if he was just annoyed. "I was in a bad mood."

"You seem fine now." Anthony picked up his book again, which he had set down when he saw Harry coming. "What did you do to her, anyway?"

Harry sighed. "I refused an interview."

Anthony nodded. "You probably shouldn't do that in the future," he suggested. "Though if you'd like to discuss the Dark Arts, you know, just to actually have done it, I found this book."

Harry stared flatly at him.

"It's not actually about how to do any Dark Arts," Anthony continued, unperturbed. "It's about the ethical quandaries and justifications for using various Dark spells and curses. It's really fascinating. I should have looked into this before. Did you know the ancient Greecian wizards used to use Petrification to create statues? They would tell a Muggle they were just going to use them as a model, set them up perfectly, and then petrify them with a basilisk or a lock of gorgon's hair."

Anthony continued telling Harry about the book, and the various case studies and example scenarios it contained and so on. Harry sighed and listened dutifully. It _was _interesting, at least the parts when Anthony remembered his audience and deigned to tell Harry something he'd actually understand.

Harry glanced around during a lecture on the blood-boiling curse and it's controversial role in the wizarding culinary world, and realised the library was empty.

"It's dinner time," Harry interrupted. "Now let's go before you put me off my shepherd's pie any more than you already have."

"Fair enough," Anthony said, and Harry waited while he gathered his books. "But did you know Healers sometimes use pain curses locally to stimulate dead nerve endings? Licensed Healers are just about the only wizards not totally banned from using Dark Arts, and…"


	41. The Announcement

"Hermione," Harry said, gazing earnestly at her. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

The Yule Ball was announced a week ago, and the entire school had been buzzing about it ever since. It put Harry in a very good mood, because when everyone was thinking about who they were going to ask, they weren't gossiping about him.

There was a pause during which Harry would have sworn he could hear insects chirping. Then Hermione smirked and threw her quill at him. "Shut up, Harry. And I'm not going to tell you who I'm going with either."

Neville, Dudley and Ron spent the last few days arguing over who got to ask her, much to Harry's amusement. Each of them had told Harry privately that they were going to ask her in secret, and Harry knew each of them had been rebuffed.

Harry grinned. "No need. I already know." He had a theory, at least. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and he just looked at her knowingly. "It's simple. Who could possibly top Neville, Dudley _and _Ron?"

"Oh, _and_ Ron, hmm?" Hermione picked up her quill and unconsciously put her nose in the air. "Well I'll admit, at least, he's simple."

Harry ignored her sarcasm. She was plainly still annoyed by Ron's initial outright refusal to believe she was telling the truth about being unavailable. Gryffindors were never known for their tact, after all, and Ron was the quintessential Gryffindor.

"The only reason you could possibly have for crushing their poor, naïve spirits," Harry explained, ignoring her scoff, "Is that you've got an older man. He's been coming to the library just to stare at you for weeks and weeks now, d'you honestly think I didn't notice?"

Hermione blushed. Harry grinned. Right in one. Being friends with observant people who spent a lot of time in the library like Anthony did paid off. He leaned back and let her change the subject.

"So who're you going with, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Apparently not you, Miss Heartbreaker." He was enjoying the whole situation thoroughly and Hermione knew it. She glared at him. "Honestly, though, I haven't got a clue. Pansy and Blaise are going together; so are Theo and Daphne. Tracy's got a date too, some Ravenclaw."

"What about Millicent Bulstrode?" Hermione teased. Harry grinned.

"We convinced Greg to ask her, so unfortunately, she's already taken."

Hermione laughed. "Pity. Why don't you ask Luna Lovegood? I'm sure she'd go with you."

Harry blinked. He hadn't even considered Luna. There were possibilities in Luna. He knew Draco always felt mildly uncomfortable around her, which could only be a plus. He'd tracked Harry down twice in the past couple weeks and tried to lecture him about his choice in friends, though Harry rebuffed him each time. Having Luna around might keep him at bay. Additionally, Luna was fun in her bizarre way, and probably wouldn't make him dance, which was infinite points in her favour, because Harry hated dancing.

"I'll do it," Harry declared, standing up and looking around at Anthony's table. It was unfortunately empty. "Later." He sat back down. "Hey, where is everyone anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "Neville, Ron and Dudley are all angry with each other today," she said. "I'm not really sure what's going on; they're being shockingly close-mouthed about it. None of them has ever been able to keep secrets like this." She frowned. "Maybe you could find out."

* * *

"We figured she had to be going with one of us, because she said she had a date, but she wouldn't say who," Ron said, his ears red. "But Neville and Dudley both claim she turned them down, and I _know_ she turned me down." Both Neville and Dudley voiced their agreement.

Harry nodded thoughtfully as they walked toward the library. "That is compelling," he said, rubbing his chin. "And you three are the _only_ boys she knows, do I have that right?"

Dudley glared at him. "Are you going with her?"

Harry laughed. "No. I'm going with Luna, assuming she says yes."

"So-" Ron did a double take. "Wait. Luna Lovegood? Really?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, she's great."

"Uh huh," Ron said, shaking his head. "But that's it then. If she's not going with any of us, and not you, who could she be going with?"

"Do you think she's going with Blaise or Draco?" Neville asked, leaning past Dudley and fixing Harry with a curious look. Harry shook his head. "Blaise and Pansy are going together," Harry said. "And I don't know who Draco is going with, but it's certainly not Hermione. I think you lot are worrying about this way too much."

"But what if she's going with some git?" Ron asked. Dudley nodded furiously along with him. Neville seemed less willing to assume Hermione's attraction to gits, generally speaking, but he looked worried as well.

"Look, do any of you have dates, or are you going to spend all your free time until the Yule Ball trying to solve this mystery?" Harry very kindly did not inform them that he knew exactly who Hermione was going with, and that Krum wasn't a bad guy, really, as far as Harry knew from eating meals near him every day. He knew they wouldn't be pleased at all.

Dudley and Ron stared at Harry, embarrassed. Neville raised his hand. "I have a date."

"Good for you, Neville!" Harry said, holding the door to the library open for him and grinning. "Who is she?"

Neville glanced sideways at Ron. "Can I keep mine a secret too?" he asked hopefully. All three of them stared at him, and Ron's ears slowly began to turn red. Harry backed away from Ron, displaying a caution that had apparently not occurred to Dudley, who was standing obliviously between Ron's increasing anger and Neville's increasing guilt.

"Dudley," Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. "Get _out_ of the crossfire."

Dudley's forehead furrowed as he considered Harry's words.

"Are you going with my _sister_?" Ron hissed. Dudley's eyes bulged and he stumbled backward out of the way and through the doors, leaving Neville and Ron in the hall. Harry backed up as well, and made a beeline for Anthony's table, Dudley in his wake.

"Bye, sorry Neville!" he called over his shoulder, and caught one last glimpse of the bravest Gryffindor he knew as Neville turned tail and ran.

"Anthony, Luna, hello," Harry said, sitting down. Madame Pince glared from behind her desk, and Dudley quickly followed suit.

"Hello," Anthony said. "I see the Yule Ball has claimed another batch of victims."

Harry grinned. Dudley glared at the table.

"Hermione has a mysterious date," Harry explained. "What are you two doing for the Yule Ball?"

"I'll be taking advantage of the empty common room," Anthony said. "The seventh years always take all the best seats by the Arithmancy shelves, and I've been wanting to read up on dimensional transmutation."

Harry nodded. No surprise there. "How about you, Luna?" he asked, suddenly nervous despite his best intentions. If she said no, he had no idea what he'd do for a date, and there was no way Blaise and Pansy would let him skip it. Blaise had already told him point blank that Harry was not to abandon him. And any girls he might be interested in going with were long since paired up.

Luna blinked at him. "I'm only in third year, Harry. I can't go unless I'm invited by someone older."

"Oh." Harry paused. "Well then, in that case, d'you…do you want to go with me?"

She tilted her head and observed Harry silently for long enough that he started to fidget. Then, finally: "I suppose so."

Harry grinned at her, relieved. "Great!" Dudley rolled his eyes. Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Now we just have to find Dudley a date. Any suggestions, Luna?"

It took far less of Luna's concentrated attention to make Dudley start to shift uncomfortably.

"I-I can find myself a girl, thanks," Dudley said, leaning back in his seat and away from her unblinking gaze.

"If you're sure," Harry said. "I'm sure Luna and I could-"

"No," Dudley said decisively. "No, I've got this one, Harry. Thanks."

* * *

_Witch Weekly_ had a featured article about Harry the day before the end of term, which Harry discovered while minding his own business in the corridor. A group of giggling Ravenclaw girls passed by, and one of them waved the cover at another. Harry did a double take when he saw his own face staring out of it, looking resigned.

He was not surprised to discover that the article was written by Rita Skeeter. He managed to obtain a copy of it through somewhat illicit means (he stole it from one of the second year Slytherin girls), and tossed it down on the table in front of Blaise and Pansy at lunch.

"I can't look," he announced. "Is it awful? Please tell me it isn't awful."

"_Witch Weekly_, Harry," Pansy commented, picking up the magazine and riffling through to the right page. "I do believe you're moving up in the world."

"Pansy, being in Witch Weekly is not an accomplishment," Blaise disagreed. "_I've_ been in Witch Weekly."

"You were only in because they did a profile on your mum," Pansy muttered, scanning the article. "Oh. Oh dear."

Harry watched her, worry creasing his brow. She lifted the magazine closer to her face and began a more thorough reading. The expression on her face became strained.

"What is it?" Blaise asked, and leaned over her shoulder to read along. Harry stared at his own picture on the front cover and felt like he was looking in a mirror; he and the picture both had the same despondent expression.

"What does it say?" he asked finally. Blaise's face was now impassive, and it was alarming.

Pansy took a breath and began to read aloud. "_Harry Potter breaks hearts where ever he goes. No doubt as a result of his Byronic -_"

Here, Pansy broke down and began snickering helplessly. "His…his Byronic good looks and ch-charming personality!" she shrieked, putting her face down on her arms and giggling madly.

Blaise was only better off in that he had managed to keep most of his composure. With an ear splitting grin, he plucked the magazine neatly out of Pansy's outstretched hands and straightened it. Clearing his throat, he said, "Here's my favourite part: _Mothers, hang on to your daughters, because Harry Potter is…_"

Blaise paused and covered his mouth with his hand, taking a deep breath and staring down at the page, hanging onto his poise with all he had. "_Harry Potter is on the prowl._"

He closed the magazine and set it next to his plate. The he made he mistake of looking up at Harry's face and lost it. Blaise sagged against Pansy and the two of them cackled without restraint. Harry glared at them both, though they were far too busy to notice.

"Mothers, hang on to your daughters!" Pansy cried, and they both fell back into near hysterics. Various Slytherin and Durmstrang students near them glanced over at the noise, and each of them grinned at the sight of the magazine. Harry felt himself turning red. How was it that he was always the last one to find out about this kind of thing?

"It's good to know that in my time of need, I have the support of my friends," Harry sulked. Pansy reached a hand out to him, nearly dipping her sleeve in the gravy.

"Oh, darling, of course you have our support," she snickered. "It's just…it's just too…'Byronic good looks'? Really?"

Blaise sniggered.

"I'm really getting sick of this," Harry muttered. Pansy nodded vigorously.

"Oh, definitely," she said, still grinning. "It's dreadful."

"She's a monster," Blaise agreed, straight faced. "She must be stopped."

"I'm going to pretend you both mean that," Harry told them, determinedly grumpy. "Instead of acknowledging your awful, awful sarcasm."

Pansy patted him on the hand. "There you go, Harry! Optimism will see you through."

Harry scowled at her, optimistically.

* * *

The article put Harry in a foul mood for the rest of the day. He spent the time after dinner that night hiding in behind the closed curtains of his four poster, watching the Marauder's Map and grimacing at anyone whose movements caught his eye.

He was waiting for the coast to be clear before he left for his final Occlumency and Parseltongue lesson of the term. (They were focussing on the subtler aspects of Occlumency, and so Snape had decreed they would not be duelling for the next few lessons.) He and Snape had agreed to take a short break during the holidays so that Snape could devote his time to his potions and next term's lesson plans, neither of which he was willing to discuss with Harry.

Harry watched the Map as the halls cleared until only one or two students were left wandering the path between his room and Snape's office. He didn't recognise their names, so he assumed they were younger years. He decided to bring his Cloak, just in case. He really didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

Rita's article had been more obnoxious than Pansy and Blaise had been able to reveal with a straight face. Not only was Harry made out to be some kind of fourteen year old Cassanova, but he was apparently stealing the innocence of every female he'd had a conversation with since the First Task. The list was shamefully short, according to Blaise. It basically amounted to Hermione, Luna, Pansy, and Tracy Davis, whom Harry had spoken to on the way to Herbology two weeks ago. He still had to track her down later on to apologise for some of the allusions Skeeter had made. It was embarrassing.

He folded up the Map and, throwing the Cloak over his shoulders, set out for the Slytherin common room, and the dungeon corridor beyond it.

He hadn't made it more than halfway to Snape's office when he was blindsided by an unexpected voice.

"What kind of mischief are you up to, hiding under that Cloak, Potter?"

Harry's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He spun around to see Professor Moody coming out of an adjacent corridor, eying him beadily.

"Professor!" He gasped. "I didn't see you…"

He pulled his Cloak off, as it was obviously not hindering Moody's piercing gaze in the slightest.

"Constant vigilance, Potter," Moody remarked in a gruff voice. "Always remember."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, still kicking himself for being caught off guard by_ Moody_ of all people. "I was just headed to Professor Snape's office. I'm supposed to be meeting with him in a few minutes."

"Must be an important meeting," Moody said. "If you've got to hide that you're going."

Harry glanced away as he stuffed the Cloak in his pocket. "I just didn't want to have talk to students I might pass on the way," he said. "The newspaper articles recently…"

"Ah, Skeeter's work," Moody agreed, the faintest trace of a smile on his scarred mouth. "Just remember you're a Slytherin, Potter. Slytherins manipulate. They are not manipulated."

Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you, Professor," he said. "I'll remember that."

"See that you do," Moody growled. "Now put that Cloak back on and get to your meeting."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, hurrying to obey. He'd be late soon. He swirled the Cloak around his shoulders and started off toward Snape's office again.

"Just a second, Potter, you dropped your parchment," Moody said, stooping to pick it up. Harry turned around and watched, his mind racing. Had he wiped the Map clean before putting it away?

"Thank you, Professor," he said, reaching his hand out from under the Cloak to take it back. Moody, true to his character, looked at the parchment suspiciously. Harry hated himself for looking nervous, and tried to clear his mind, tried to act naturally. He thought of the absent feeling he'd been able to summon while detangling Luna's necklace; he tried to place it behind his eyes. Inside his head, he thought about how normal and boring the parchment was. Everyone always told Harry that his every thought showed up on his face.

"Awfully old bit of parchment, Potter," Moody said, and looked as though he was about to hand it back. Harry fought back the hope that rushed through him and thought instead about how he was going to be late for his meeting with Snape.

"It's been in my pocket for a while, I think," he explained. "The house elves might have washed it since I last looked at it. I think it was a trick parchment. Insults whoever tries to write on it, or something."

That was the safeguard on the Map. Sirius had explained how it had a built in defence mechanism. Whoever tried to make it reveal its secrets without the proper password would find themselves insulted with faux-politeness and at length, in writing, by the makers of the Map themselves.

Call it a trick parchment, and anyone looking would find what he'd told them to expect.

Moody's darker eye glanced up at him, and Harry thought again about how late he was going to be. He thought he'd been getting better at lying lately.

Moody shook his head and, to Harry's immense relief (because he really had to be meeting with Snape, of course), handed back the parchment. "On your way, now," he said, and Harry stuffed the Map back in his pocket and took off at a speedy pace. He heard Moody's wooden leg clunking rhythmically in the other direction. Relief spilled through him like cool pumpkin juice.

* * *

"I think I'm doing better, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow and glanced into Harry's eyes. Harry put the absent feeling behind them and thought about Bertie Botts instead of all the things he'd done to deserve a detention in the past few weeks, like Snape wanted him to. Snape grimaced as Harry imagined the taste of the grass bean.

"Better, yes," Snape said, tenting his fingers and regarding Harry over them. "Though you have not quite mastered it. Why do you wander around under your Cloak before curfew?"

Harry grimaced and shifted in his chair. "I thought I'd stopped you!"

"You stopped me from learning about whatever it is you did to cause all of Professor Sprout's Tentacula seedlings to lose their teeth."

"I didn't do that, that was-" Harry cut himself off abruptly. Snape nodded once, amused at his last minute save. "That wasn't me," he finished.

"You must be able to clear your mind all of the memories you wish to hide, not just most of them," Snape lectured. "Otherwise, while you are looking in one direction, I can spend time out of your view, finding a trail of information that will lead me to what I want to know. All of your thoughts are connected. If I can pick up on even one vulnerable idea, I can follow that train of thought to the rest of your memories. How do you think you are to stop me from doing that?"

Harry considered this. "Could I give you a thought without any connections?"

"Every thought is connected to another." Snape shook his head. "There is no escaping the interconnectedness of the mind, and you would waste your time trying."

Harry frowned, stumped. Then he thought about the way he'd thought of the Map as just a parchment when he was trying to lie to Moody. "Maybe I could build a chain of thought that looked normal, but was actually fabricated?"

Snape nodded slowly. Encouraged, Harry continued. "If I came up with a fake idea, and built a chain of fake thoughts from that idea, you'd follow the fake chain for as long as I made it before you'd find a real one that would lead you back into my actual memories."

"An interesting theory," Snape said, leaning back in his chair. "We will test it."

Harry braced himself.

He could feel Snape trying to sift through his mind, looking for his current opinion of Draco. Though nearly undone by Snape's underhanded use of an obviously touchy subject to throw Harry's focus, he managed to build a fiction in his head. He and Draco were having a fight right now (and he had all kinds of ill will toward Draco to prove it) because they both had certain ideas about the kind of people Harry should associate with. Draco wanted him to stop talking to Gryffindors and muggleborns, and in fact, Harry remembered the expression on Draco's face when he first discovered Harry was friends with Hermione Granger. As far as Harry was concerned, Draco could shove his bigotry up his-

"Very good, Mr. Potter," Snape told him, setting his wand down on the desk between them. "A believable story, proper memories to back it up, and a long enough chain of thoughts, each of them peppered with genuine emotion, that no one who didn't already know the truth would question it. And a certain amount of conviction behind it all as well."

Harry nodded. "It all felt more authentic to think of it all as true in the front of my mind, rather than as a lie I'm trying to convince you of." He paused. "And anyway, we really did have that argument. Just not this year."

"Indeed. Take caution when lying to yourself, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "This kind of misdirection will only benefit you if, in the deepest parts of your mind, you are not truly fooled."

* * *

The winter holidays usually meant a nice break from the hectic bustle of Hogwarts, but with the Yule Ball coming up, barely any of the students fourth year and above were going home. It was strange to see the halls so full when no one really had anywhere in particular to be.

On the other hand, the library was completely empty, but for Madam Pince and Harry.

He was waiting for his Gryffindor friends to show up, or barring that, his Ravenclaw friends. He didn't have plans to meet here with either of them, not really, but then again, the groups he was waiting for were led by Hermione Granger and Anthony Goldstein respectively. The two of them were like homing pigeons; no matter where they went, no matter what they did, after a while they were inexplicably drawn back to the library. He'd kind of expected them to be here already when he arrived. He leaned back in his chair and flipped through _Quidditch Through the Ages_, pausing to examine a diagram of a Chaser doing the Starfish and Stick maneuver.

"Harry Potter. I vould like to talk with you."

Harry glanced up in time to see Victor Krum of all people dropping into the seat across from him at his table and eyeing him suspiciously.

"Er," Harry said. "Um, sure, okay. How can I help you?"

"Vot is your…relationship with Herm-own-ninny?"

Harry stared at him. "With-"

"With Herm-own-ninny."

"…we're friends," Harry said, starting to smile in spite of himself. Nevermind that Krum was obviously here because of Skeeter's articles. He was asking after Hermione and calling her Herm-own-ninny and Harry was _never going to stop teasing her about this. _"Just friends, honestly."

Krum regarded him narrowly. "The newspaper said-"

"You mean 'Rita Skeeter said'," Harry reminded him. "I know you've met her, I saw the interview she did with you."

Krum winced. "I haff a publicist for Quidditch," he said. "I do not usually talk to the press."

"Hermione," Harry enunciated clearly, "and I are just good friends. Skeeter likes to make things up. I'm going to the Yule Ball with Luna Lovegood, anyway."

Krum leaned back, satisfied. "Good," he said, glancing down at Harry's book. "Do you play Quidditch?"

Harry grinned. "I play for Slytherin, yeah," he said. "Or at least, I would if we were playing this year. The last time I was on a broom, it was with that guy, Poliakoff."

The expression that crossed Krum's face when Harry mentioned Poliakoff was an awkward one. "He is a strange boy," Krum said, in response to Harry's enquiring glance.

Harry remembered, grudgingly, the last conversation he'd had with Draco. He had said something similar. "Do you know him well?"

"Not really," Krum said. "Before we came to Hogwarts, we did not have same interests. We did not speak. But he is… odd." Harry nodded. He couldn't argue with that. Krum changed the subject back to something more important. "What position do you play?"


	42. The Ball

"You look lovely, Luna." Harry stood next to the steps that led up to Ravenclaw Tower and watched as Luna descended. She was wearing a strange dress, to be certain, but aside from the chaotic frills and mirrors sewn in, she had put her hair up and replaced her radish earrings with what looked like beets.

Luna gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Harry. You look lovely as well."

Harry grinned and held out his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, and they walked down to the Entrance Hall, where everyone was still milling about, waiting for the doors to open. Harry searched the crowd, looking for a familiar face. They had managed to get caught up in the Beauxbaton group, and Harry didn't know any of their Hogwarts dates.

"Do you see Blaise and Pansy anywhere?" Harry asked as Luna's eyes took in the crowd. There was no argument about who had better vision between Harry and Luna. "Or Hermione or Dudley?"

"I see Hermione," Luna said. She pointed vaguely in the direction of the Champions that were lining up just in front of the door. Harry caught a glimpse of brown hair and a blue robe behind Krum, but soon the crowd closed the gap between them and he lost her again.

"She seems busy," Luna added. Harry shrugged and began leading them slowly through the crowd.

Harry had found a clique of Hufflepuffs and was trying to politely make his and Luna's way out to the other side of the yellow press when the crowd suddenly surged forward. It seemed that the doors had opened and they were being let inside. Harry and Luna held their positions and managed to enter the Hall behind theHufflepuffs instead of with them.

They filtered in with the rest of the crowd and ended up ringing a dance floor. Harry glanced at Luna, nervous, but she didn't seem to be eyeing it unduly. She was looking up at the decorations on the walls and ceilings.

"They've forgotten the oak branches," she told Harry. "They're important for keeping the holly's influence under control."

Harry nodded, though without Anthony around, he wasn't sure if this was common wizarding knowledge or Luna knowledge.

"I think the tables are made of oak, actually," Ron said. Harry startled, but Luna must have been aware of his presence, because she only nodded and peered over at one of the groupings of tiny tables beyond the dance floor. "That would work better than just having branches lying about, since there's holly everywhere."

Common wizarding knowledge then. Harry took note.

"Hi, Ron," Harry said, and glanced around at the nearby people. "Where's your date?"

Ron's ears turned red. "I decided to come alone," he said stiffly. Harry kept his mouth shut and turned back to the dance floor. The three of them watched from the crowd as the Champions swept in and began to dance.

If Harry hadn't known that Hermione was the one with Krum, he would never have recognised her. Her hair was… shiny, and her face looked painted. Her robes were very nice and blue, and generally speaking, she seemed happy dancing with Krum and the other Champions.

"Hermione looks very pretty tonight," Luna said, mirroring Harry's thoughts. Ron frowned at them and glanced around.

"Where is she? I haven't seen her yet." Ron grimaced. "I bet her mystery date is some loser from Hufflepuff."

Harry winced. Apparently, not only had Ron not noticed Hermione on the dance floor, he had also failed to realize that they were currently standing on the fringe of a crowd of upper year Hufflepuffs.

"She's dancing," Harry said. "The one in the blue."

Ron's jaw dropped. Harry took this moment of distraction to pull Luna away. The Hufflepuffs had overheard, and were rustling with quiet indignation. They found a table near a few other people in Harry's year and sat down.

"I think," Luna said after a long moment, her large eyes watching the dance floor where couples were beginning to join the Champions, "That when you want to do something you're afraid of, it's best to do it in a large crowd."

Harry sagged. "You want to dance, don't you? I don't know how to dance. I'm sorry, Luna."

"It's okay, Harry," Luna said. "I only learned the tango and swing from Daddy. All the other dances I know, I learned on my own. I can teach you."

"Maybe later, Luna," Harry said, listening to the end notes of the song that had been playing with relief. "They're done dancing now. I think we're going to eat."

Sure enough, couples began making their way from the dance floor out among the tables. Hermione was sitting with the Champions, but Harry's other friends managed to find them. Neville and Ginny Weasley sat at the next table over, waving a greeting, and Blaise and Pansy sat down with Harry and Luna, looking like they'd just been dancing. Pansy was fanning herself, and her cheeks were the same colour as her dress: bright pink.

"Having fun yet?" she asked, grinning. "Blaise spent the entire first number trying _really_ hard to step on each of my toes individually."

Harry felt marginally better. "So, you don't know how to dance either?" he asked Blaise.

Blaise scowled. "I can dance perfectly well, thank you. I've been ballroom dancing since I was four. _Pansy_ spent the entire first number trying to trip me up. I was taking deliberate aim."

"This dress is the height of fashion right now," Pansy said. "I'll have you know, if any of the Hogwarts girls had any sense at all, they would have been vivid green with envy. I'll thank you not to insult my dress again, Zabini."

"Green might have been a better colour for it," Blaise muttered under his breath. He smiled charmingly at Pansy's narrow-eyed expression. "Oh look, menus! Let's order!"

Dudley sat down at Neville and Ginny's table so that his and Harry's chairs were back to back. He had a curly haired girl with him that Harry didn't recognise.

"Hi, Dudley," Harry said, turning around with Luna to talk. "I see you managed to find a date without our help."

"Yeah," Dudley said, gesturing at the girl next to him. "This is Delilah Diggle. She's in Hufflepuff."

Harry nodded at Delilah and thought that she had to be a third year. She seemed excited to be here, anyway, and smiled enough at Dudley.

Ron showed up then, and pulled a chair up next to Neville. "Hey guys," he said, sounding grumpy. "Do you have any idea how many times my feet got stepped on on the way over here?"

Delilah cast him a scornful glance and turned back to Dudley, engaging him in animated conversation about gobstones.

* * *

After dinner, Luna did indeed try to teach Harry to dance. She led him over to the side of the dance floor, deaf to his mumbled objections, and proceeded to walk him through a simple swing dance. Pansy and Blaise sailed past every so often and snickered at Harry's pitiful attempts. Luna assured him that once he got the hang of it, even a blibbering humdinger wouldn't dance as well. There was no one around at the time to explain what a blibbering humdinger was, but Harry decided to take it as encouragement nonetheless.

After a while, Luna let Harry take a break, and they found the punch bowl. Just past the refreshments was a set of doors that led outside to what looked like a path lined with rose bushes, and Harry wandered over to investigate. When Luna followed, Harry led them out on to the path, thinking that the further away from the music they were, the less likely it would be that he'd have to dance to it.

They walked amiably along, and Luna hummed and picked flowers. As they neared a small clearing, Harry heard a deep feminine voice raised in what sounded like anger. He slowed down and peered through a bush to find Hagrid sitting on a bench with the headmaster of Beauxbatons standing over him, looking upset. Hagrid didn't look any happier. Harry remembered them dancing an hour ago and surmised that the date hadn't gone well. Glancing around for another path to take, Harry found that Luna had gone on without him.

Harry kept going, but he couldn't find Luna. She had disappeared. The rose bushes were arranged like a maze, and he had a feeling he'd taken a wrong turn several forks back, and now he'd never find her. He kept running into snogging couples though, which was awkward. He decided to aim for the Great Hall again.

He had found the right path and had nearly reached the doors to the Hall when a portion of a conversation caught his ear.

"…Lovegood, of all people…"

Luna must have passed by here, then, if someone was talking about her. Harry slowed down to listen to the conversation going on just beyond the doorway, inside the Hall.

"…not even a proper Slytherin, always hanging around with those mudbloods and blood traitors in Gryffindor."

"I can't believe you were friends with him, Draco. He's a dangerous sort to associate with, if you catch my meaning."

Harry felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. He narrowed his eyes and listened for a response.

"Well I had to, you know," Draco said, sounding annoyed. "My father said he could be useful. The Boy-Who-Lived in Slytherin and all. No one had any idea what that meant. It's not like we were actually _friends _or anything. And now we know better."

Harry stumbled back, blinking. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Draco had sounded insulted at the very notion that he and Harry might have been friends. And even this year, when Harry had been so mad at Draco for ignoring him, he had never had any idea that Draco thought…

Harry didn't want to think too deeply about what he was feeling just then, else he might go inside and hit Draco right in the middle of the Yule Ball. He stormed off, as far away from the Great Hall as he could get, and when he hit a dead end, he didn't even pause.

"_Reducto!_" A small hole opened up in the bushes. Harry made it larger and forced his way through, still furious.

He stomped away across the grounds, headed away from the castle. Otherwise, he didn't really have a goal in mind. There was a ringing in his ears that drowned out most other noise, which was probably why he didn't hear anyone calling him.

"Harry! Are you okay?" Poliakoff pulled up beside him, having apparently run after him. He was panting.

Harry's jaw tightened. "I'm fine. What do you want?"

"You are… upset," Poliakoff said, holding his hands up in a conciliatory fashion and tripping over his feet when Harry glanced at him. "I thought I could help?"

Harry was in a bad enough mood that Poliakoff's bumbling annoyed him instead of pacifying him. "How exactly to you plan to do that?"

"Vell." Poliakoff rubbed his eyebrow with the heel of his palm. "We could go to Hogsmeade and you can talk, if you want. It is about Draco Malfoy, yes?"

Harry's bad mood, barely constrained for Poliakoff, exploded again. "That bastard has a lot of explaining to do," he raged. Poliakoff nodded and turned him away from the Forest, where his path had been taking them, and toward Hogsmeade. It was dark already, and Harry was walking very quickly. Even with his longer legs, Poliakoff stumbled to keep up.

"He just said…! Back there, he just told them that- that he was only pretending to be friends with me to see if I could be _useful!_ That stupid _git_ stopped talking to me, fine, but then he turns around and starts telling people that? As if he never liked me, as if we really weren't ever friends?"

Poliakoff nodded sympathetically, though Harry ignored him.

"I _know_ we were friends before this year," he said furiously. "I don't know what his problem is now, but I _know_ we were friends. I have way too much blackmail material on him for him to have been faking it all this time."

Poliakoff nodded again, steering him along the path so that he didn't end up in the snow again. They were coming up on the gates out of Hogwarts quickly.

"Who does he think he is?" Harry fumed. "He is such an arse! I hate him sometimes, you know?"

Poliakoff did know, if his continual nodding was any indication. The wind blew, rustling nearby trees.

"Actually," Harry stopped in his tracks. "You know what? I'm going back there. I'm going to find him. Then I'm going to hit him. Then I'm going to tell him what I think of him! I am so _sick_ of him this year!"

"Harry," Poliakoff sounded alarmed. "Ve were going to Hogsmeade, remember? You should calm down. Do not hit anyone."

"No, that's a good idea, actually," Harry said, and started back on his way to the castle. Poliakoff hovered around him, concerned. "If I hit him, he'll have to sit there for long enough to listen to me tell him what a git he is."

With this new plan in mind, Harry felt calmer. By the time he reached the castle again (through the front doors, rather than the impromptu window he'd made in the rose bushes) he was even able to school his expression into neutrality. All the better to catch Draco by surprise when he hit him right on the nose.

By now, it was getting late. When Harry walked into the Great Hall, Poliakoff at his heels, the crowd had halved at least. It took Harry all of three minutes to realize that Draco and his friends had left already. The snow had been at least ankle deep outside; both Harry and Poliakoff's robes and shoes were damp. Harry realized he was cold.

"I do not see him," Poliakoff said. Having realized upon reaching the castle that Hogsmeade was no longer an option, Poliakoff seemed to have come to terms with helping Harry find and hit Draco. He was gamely searching the crowd, using his height to his advantage.

"That's because he's gone," Harry said. His shoulders slumped, and he dropped down at a nearby empty table. Poliakoff sat with him. "This is stupid. I'm not going to hit him. He's never going to talk to me again anyway." Harry scrubbed at his forehead, where a headache was forming. He felt very tired, all of a sudden. "Even if he does, I don't think I'd want to answer." He stood up abruptly and glanced around one last time. Pansy and Blaise were still in the Hall, tucked away in a quiet corner and sitting awfully close. Neville and Ginny were dancing. Otherwise, all his friends were gone. "I'm going to bed. Thanks, Poliakoff. Goodnight."

* * *

Christmas morning dawned quietly. Harry didn't even bother to draw back the hangings on the side of his bed that was next to Draco's, and instead opened his presents alone. Blaise wandered over to exchange and discuss presents, and Harry teased him lightly about the Yule Ball and Pansy.

Harry received presents from Dudley (and Uncle Vernon), Hermione, Blaise, Pansy, Anthony, Luna, and Sirius and Remus. Most of it was standard fare, but the presents from his godfather and former professor were the best by far.

A tawny owl had been sitting quietly at the foot of Harry's bed when he woke, and it hooted at him whenever he shifted. It had a bundle of square parchment bound to its leg. It didn't leave when Harry untied it.

Scribbled on the front of the parchment was a note:

_Happy Christmas, Harry!_

_To our understanding, you already have a lot of pictures of Lily and her side of the family. We thought some pictures of James (and his friends and family) would complement your collection. Enclosed are the combined efforts of Moony and myself to acquire as many photos as possible for you._

In a different handwriting:

_Sirius has charmed a few of the photos, against my better judgement._

Harry grinned and opened the parchment. He let the stack of photos spill out onto his bed, feeling a bit nostalgic for his first Christmas at Hogwarts as he sorted through them.

Some of the pictures were of James when he was younger than Harry, even. Many of them were of him and Sirius and Remus while at school. Pettigrew was in a couple, but Sirius seemed to spend a lot of time in those pictures shoving him out of view. That was probably what Remus meant when he said Sirius had charmed them. Harry shook his head and sifted through the rest.

There were a few of James and Lily together, smiling and waving at the camera. Some pictures even included Lily and James holding a baby, Harry.

The lack of scar was strange; Harry had never seen himself without it. The three of them looked happier than anything he could have expected.

He spent a bit longer staring at each picture, and spared a thought that he'd have to get another photo album. There were at least thirty photos in all. Sirius and Remus had really gone out of their way. He picked up the parchment eventually, to finish reading the note.

_The owl that delivered this package is a male tawny, about two years old. We bought him for you, and haven't named him. Now you don't have to borrow Dudley's owl whenever you want to send us a letter._

Harry blinked at the owl. The owl resolutely did not blink back. Harry's snake took this moment to crawl out of the empty wrappings he had been investigating, apparently having sensed a change in Harry's mood.

"_Why is that bird in your bed?_" she asked. She had been spending a lot of time roaming Hogwarts on her own this year, and had been quite taken with the Owlery, at least until she discovered that the owls there disapproved of her deeply, and with claws. As such, she was wary of most large birds and full of adoration for Hagrid, who usually patched her up.

"_He's my new owl,_" Harry explained. "_He'll deliver letters and packages for me._"

"_It won_'_t live here with us, will it?_" The snake seemed discomfited by this idea. "_It doesn't like me._"

Harry smiled. "_You can't know he doesn't like you. He hasn't done anything._"

"_It doesn't like me,_" the snake insisted. She slithered up Harry's arm to his shoulder, and hissed at the bird. "_I can tell. It wants to eat me. I don't like it either._"

"_He'll probably stay in the Owlery,_" Harry said, running a soothing finger down his snake's scales.

"_Good,_" she said. "_They can all claw each other, the barbarians._"

Anthony had been teaching the snakes new words again, Harry noted with amusement.

"_He needs a name,_" Harry said, just to see what the snake would say. "_What do you think?_"

"_A name?_" Harry remembered the conversation they'd had back when he offered a name to his snake. "_A word used to describe and label someone so that they can be differentiated from others…"_ Clearly his snake remembered as well. "_You should call it-_"

What followed was a long string of meanings that Harry didn't think would actually translate into English. He caught most of it, though, and it was all very crude.

"_I'm not calling him that!_" Harry snickered. "_I don't think I could even repeat all that properly._"

The snake reared back, tilted her head toward Harry's ear, and said it all again, slowly. This time, Harry caught several key phrases, including 'scaleless egg thief' and 'two-legged pile of shed skin".

"_Right,_" Harry said. He gave the bird a reassuring smile as he shifted. He was probably uncomfortable with all the hissing. "_Definitely not calling him that. Be nice._"

"_I will not,_" the snake said, stubbornly. "_It wants to eat me. Tell it I'm watching it._"

"_I can't talk to him like I can talk to you,_" Harry told her. "_I don't speak bird language._"

Harry's snake made a satisfied sound and coiled around his neck, preening. "_Good._"

* * *

"So what are you going to call him, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just got him this morning."

He and Dudley were sitting on the windowsill in the Owlery, admiring Harry's new bird.

"It's good that you got your own owl, finally," Dudley said. "Now Whitey can rest more between flights." Whitey flew over and landed between them, allowing Dudley to smooth the feathers on her head.

Harry nodded and hummed his agreement as his own bird hopped up onto his knee, investigating the new arrival.

"Actually," Dudley continued, hopefully. "I was going to send a letter out with Whitey today, but she's looking kind of tired. Would you mind if I borrow your owl?"

Harry shrugged. "I've borrowed yours often enough over the years. I don't see why not. Are you writing to Uncle Vernon? Tell him I said thanks for the gloves. They're really nice."

"I'll tell him, but I'm not writing to him." Dudley looked away, out toward the lake. His voice was quiet. "I've got to send a letter to my mum for Christmas."

Harry blinked a couple times. He pulled a knee up to his chest, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "You're still writing to her?" He paused. "She writes back, then? That's g-"

"She-she hasn't… written back. Yet." Dudley spoke slowly, as though he was reaching through a thorny bush to pull each word out. "The letters come back, usually. But… they're opened, sometimes. So…"

"Yeah," Harry said, and cleared his throat. He stared down at his new owl, not really sure what to say. "I… I guess if it was my mum, I'd keep writing too."

Dudley swallowed and nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute, just watching their owls as they shifted and hooted periodically at each other.

"So, the girl you took to the Yule Ball," Harry said eventually. "How did you meet her?"

"Delilah?" Dudley laughed and scratched his head. "I was leaving breakfast a couple days before the Ball, thinking about how I couldn't let you and Loon-Luna change your minds and decide I needed help finding a date. She and her friends were passing by, so I asked her."

Harry grinned. "You just walked up, picked her out of a small crowd, and asked? And she said yes?"

"Well…while they were walking by, she mentioned that she really wanted to go and couldn't because she didn't have a date." Dudley shrugged and grinned back. "And then she did."

"Clever," Harry laughed. "She seemed nice."

Dudley nodded and waggled his eyebrows. "She was _really_ nice."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Dudley!"

Dudley grinned and held up his hands defensively. "What? We had a great time. We're going to Hogsmeade together next weekend."

"Wow, that's great," he said, shaking his head. "Congratulations then."

"What about you and Luna? Is she-"

"'Really nice'? Going to Hogsmeade with me next week?" Harry grinned. "No. We went as friends, mostly. She spent part of the Ball teaching me how to dance, and then I lost her."

"You…lost her?" Dudley frowned. "How do you lose a girl?"

"Well," Harry said, "She was walking through the rosebushes with me one minute, and then I looked away, and she was gone. So I lost her. We had fun though."

Dudley smirked. "Until you lost her."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, until I lost her."

"Good job, Harry. Very smooth."

"Shut up, Dudley. Go back to your Tower."

* * *

_"How about we name him Paracelsus?"_ Harry consulted the list he and Hermione had complied._ "It's the name of a famous alchemist."_

_"Too dignified."_

_"What do you think of Shiva? It's a Hindu god, also known as the destroyer."_

_"Fitting."_ His snake coiled more comfortably around his wrist as she considered the name._ "I don't like it."_

_"Loki? The trickster god. He turned evil and the other gods had to chain him to a rock."_

_"Could we chain the bird to a rock?"_

Harry snorted. _"No."_

_"Then no."_

_"How about something simple, then. Gall, the patron saint of birds."_

_"That bird is not a saint. Don't be deceptive, Harry."_

Harry laughed out loud, startling a passing second year. _"Alright, we'll forget the saints and gods then. How about Abaddon? It means chaos and destruction."_

The snake turned this over thoughtfully. _"I like it. But it still sounds too dignified."_

Harry shook his head. _"Well of course he's going to have a dignified name. I'm not going to name him Stormageddon or something ridiculous like that."_

The snake reared up with interest. _"What does that mean?"_

Harry ran an exasperated hand through his hair. _"I don't know. It's a storm crossed with an Armageddon, which is the end of the world. But it's not a real name."_

_"I like it,"_ she said adamantly. _"We will call your bird Stormageddon."_

Harry laughed. _"No we won't. I think I'm going to go with Loki, actually."_

_"No, Stormageddon is perfect,"_ the snake said firmly, and wouldn't hear another word on it. Harry made the mistake of telling Blaise and Dudley about the conversation, and from then on, everyone but Harry called his bird Stormageddon. It got to the point that Loki started answering to that instead, to Harry's immense frustration.

* * *

_A/N: When **Diimortal** suggested Stormageddon, I HAD to do it. I didn't know how I would do it, but I HAD to. It was very important. I know I said the name had to make sense and be something he'd come up with, but I think it works this way! Frig, man. Stormageddon. You guys have got to hate how undignified the owl names are in this story. Harry tried! By the way, Stormy is, in fact, the owl's nickname, for those of you that wondered. Also, credit to **bungler** and **goku** for coming up with 'Loki', among others, and to **Nahmen**, who came up with Paracelsus, which I probably would have used had I not found Stormageddon. Everyone had brilliant suggestions! Thanks so much!_

_Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews, and for enjoying this story! I can't believe how much positive feedback I get for this, it's insane, and I love you all, especially those of you who were reviewing when I first wrote it, and are somehow still here. I've been writing MR since high school. I've graduated college already. I'm not even halfway done! I've got to get going here. And I will!  
_


	43. The Lake

The Second Task was held by the lake on a bright, cold morning in February. Harry sat with Pansy and Blaise toward the top of the stands, trying to figure out which of them could perform the best warming charm.

"Harry's was strong," Blaise was explaining. "But mine lasted longer."

"But Pansy's actually covered all of me," Harry disagreed. "Yours left my toes freezing and my ankles hot. Not the best of options."

"Harry," Blaise said, "Yours made me feel like I was having a hot flash."

"There is no reason for us to still be arguing this," Pansy interrupted. "Mine was clearly the best."

The two boys grumbled but eventually agreed and let her cast her warming charm on both of them.

"So, what do they have to do, anyway?" Blaise peered out toward the lake, where the Champions' tent stood, leaning slightly in the wind.

"Not sure," Pansy answered. "I heard from Lisa that Susan in Hufflepuff said that Diggory had a puzzle to solve. It was in the egg they had to get from the dragons. She said the screeching was awful."

"Hermione said that Krum was researching ways to survive underwater for long periods of time," Harry said. "I think they have to go into the lake. Maybe they have to fight some kind of underwater creature?"

"Maybe they have to fight the giant squid," Blaise suggested. "Though I don't know how that'd work. They'd have to get it mad first."

"That's boring," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. "If the only skills involved in this tournament are battling giant monsters, this is going to get old, fast. We might as well have had a Gryffindor as our champion; they go in for that kind of thing."

The three of them settled down, Pansy leaning against Blaise's side, and watched as Dumbledore and the other four judges took their places near the edge of the water. Bagman tapped his throat with his wand and began to shout:

"Welcome, welcome," His voice bounced off the stands and rippled on the water. The three Champions stood at the bank, wands at the ready. "To the second task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

The crowd clapped and cheered. "Our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle!" Bagman turned in a wide circle for the crowd and ostentatiously held up something that flashed in the morning light; presumably it was the whistle. "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three then!"

Harry and his friends leaned forward expectantly with the rest of the crowd as Bagman counted down, paused for just the barest of seconds, and blew the whistle. Each of the three champions sprang to action in an instant, brandishing their wands at themselves and wading into the water in the same movement.

"So they've got to go down in the lake and find something that got stolen from them," Pansy said, cocking her head to the side. "How likely is it that they would actually take a person?"

"A person?" Harry asked. "You mean, steal their best friend or something and drop them in the lake? Would they do that?"

"Yeah." Blaise shrugged. "Why not?"

Harry peered down at Krum, the last champion still above the water. He was currently half a shark and waist deep. He hurled himself beneath the surface and soon even his fin had disappeared.

"And Krum, the last of the champions to finish his preparations, is on his way!" Bagman boomed. "You don't see transfigurations like that everyday, do you folks?"

"Hey, Harry, budge up." It was Dudley, holding a Hogwarts flag and a bag of Ice Mice. Harry moved over to make room for him, consequently shoving Pansy and Blaise closer together. They didn't seem to mind.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Dudley asked, settling down in his seat. "We can't find her anywhere."

Harry glanced at Blaise and Pansy, who shrugged as one. Suddenly he felt like rooting for Durmstrang.

Barely fifteen minutes into Bagman's monologue on the weaknesses and strengths of each Champion, the water began to ripple.

"Could it be, folks?" Bagman roared, leaning forward as eagerly as anyone. "Has one of our Champions returned with their prize already?"

Three heads broke the surface. One of them was struggling fiercely.

"Who is it?" Harry asked, squinting.

"I can't-"

"The hair is too long to be anyone but Delacour," Pansy said, peering down at the lake as the two figures dragged the third toward the dock. "Are those merpeople?"

"What are they doing to her?" Dudley asked. The rest of the crowd chattered around them, clearly of the same mind.

"Never fear, folks!" Bagman boomed jovially. "As a precaution to safeguard against accidents and temptation, the merpeople of the Great Lake were enlisted to keep an eye on our Champions!"

Delacour was shouting and struggling to escape even as the merpeople hefted her onto the dock. She wasn't getting very far; it seemed like she was injured.

"Gabrielle! Non, ma soeur! Gabrielle! Je ne peux pas l'abandonner!"

Two witches took her from the merpeople and carried her off to a medical tent, still screaming for Gabrielle. Professor Dumbledore stepped forward and began screeching at the merpeople. It was an awful sound.

"I guess you were right about them taking people," Harry muttered, glancing over at the tent, which clearly had silencing charms on it, as Delacour's shouts had vanished the moment they stepped through the flap.

Blaise shrugged. "Yeah. Also, the screeching in the egg you mentioned makes sense now, Pansy. It was Mermish."

The merpeople screeched back, and Dumbledore straightened up to speak with Bagman and the other judges.

"It's supposed to sound quite beautiful underwater," Pansy said doubtfully. Harry made a face, and turned to note that Dudley's expression was similar. They grinned at each other.

"It sounded like Mum's singing," Dudley confirmed, and the grin dropped off his face a moment later. "Or how she used to sound, anyway."

Harry's response died on his lips. He followed Dudley's lead and turned back to the lake to listen to Bagman's relay of Delacour's failure quietly.

"Grindylow." Pansy shook her head. "How embarrassing."

"Do you think Hermione's alright down there?" Harry asked. "Krum was kind of toothy last time we saw him. Knowing her, she'd take one look at him and send him back."

Pansy and Blaise laughed, but Dudley looked alarmed. "Hermione's in the lake?"

"I think so," Harry explained. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Have you seen her lately?"

Dudley's eyes widened. "Not since last night! McGonagall called her to her office and I went to bed before she got back! She's really in the lake, isn't she? Bloody hell! Do you think Ron knows?"

"Weasley and his brood are all over there," Pansy said as Harry shrugged. She pointed to the middle of the crowd, about four stands away. "I'm not sure how they managed, as there were quite enough of them already, but I think they've multiplied."

Harry peered over and saw the mass of flaming red hair where Pansy had indicated. It did look like more than Ron, Ginny and the twins. There had to be at least three or four more of them than usual. Harry shook his head and turned back around in his seat. He'd asked Dudley once, how many siblings Ron had. Dudley had paused, furrowed his brow, and eventually shrugged and declared, "A lot."

Now that the brief bit of entertainment that had come of Delacour's dramatic exit from the lake was over, Dumbledore went about extracting information about Krum and Diggory's progress from the merpeople. Bagman relayed the information to the crowd, peppered with commentary on which of them was more likely to find and rescue their prize first.

"He hopes it's Diggory," Blaise said as Bagman made a particularly biased remark that provoked a spate of boos and hisses from the Durmstrang supporters in the crowd.

Harry frowned. "Wait, I thought you bet on Diggory?" he asked. "Wouldn't he want Krum to win instead?"

"You think I'm the only one who placed bets with him?" Blaise asked, grinning like a satisfied cat. "He's been offering insane odds on Krum ever since the First Task, trying to get people to bet on him to win. That way, if Diggory wins, he'll be able to pay me."

Dudley screwed up his face. "What if Krum wins?"

"Then he only has to deal with paying back a lot of smaller debts, instead of one huge one involving Blaise's mother," Pansy cut in, and leaned on Blaise's arm sporting her own cheshire grin. "But what he doesn't realize is that I bought out about half the bets from Hogwarts, and placed my own. If he doesn't owe the Zabinis, he'll owe the Parkinsons."

Blaise and Pansy cackled together, clearly thrilled with themselves.

Dudley stared at them, open mouthed. Harry grinned in spite of himself. "That's evil and brilliant," he said. "And your parents just give you money for this sort of thing?"

Pansy shrugged. "Daddy likes it when I take an interest in his hobbies. Buying up the bets was his idea."

"Mum likes to see me putting my mind to use," Blaise agreed. "She always says never to regret the revenge you could have taken."

Harry looked at Dudley, who just shook his head. "You Slytherins," he said. Harry shrugged and nodded. Who was he to deny it?

* * *

Snape's Parseltongue lessons were still moving slowly. It was like he needed to take time to process new concepts. It would take several weeks after Harry had introduced him to something for Snape to begin using it regularly. Admittedly, when he started working the concept in he was flawless, but it did take him a while to process initially.

In the meantime, though, Harry had managed to develop acceptable skill in those subjects Snape was tutoring him in, so he wasn't about to complain. Or mention how suspicious it was that Snape was bad at languages, except for when he wasn't.

Harry was on the way to a Parseltongue lesson right now, and essentially late. He'd been caught up in the hallway by Moody, wanting to clarify something in the essay Harry had turned in that morning, but he would have still been on time if he hadn't forgotten his Map and been unable to avoid Peeves on the way down to the dungeons.

It wouldn't make a difference to Snape, though. More often than not, Parseltongue lessons these days were coupled with Harry's own lessons, and when Harry was late, Snape tended to start the duel (mental or magical) as he walked in the door instead of letting Harry gather himself and set his things down first. There was no time for excuses that way, either.

Harry therefore approached Snape's office door cautiously, bracing himself for attack from any direction as he pushed open the door and tossed his bag on the nearest table.

None came, and Harry narrowed his eyes. This was unusual. He gripped his wand and ventured further into the office, closing the door behind him, vigilant for attack from any direction and noting that Moody would be proud of his caution.

Snape did not appear to be in his office. Harry knew Snape's style, and this length of time before an attack was not part of it. Snape wouldn't wait for an enemy to get his bearings in an unusual situation, and he would chastise Harry for doing so, too.

Harry considered calling out for all of half a second, but calling attention to his apparent advantage would be the height of stupidity. Snape would have his head for even considering it.

He circled the room twice, confirmed as best he could that Snape was actually absent, and turned his attention to the door to Snape's private potions lab. The office door wouldn't have been unlocked for Harry if Snape wasn't actually present, so it stood to reason that he was waiting in there.

Harry cast a nonverbal silencing spell on the lock, then an Alohomora. The door clicked open noiselessly, and opened about half an inch. Harry crept toward it, wand at the ready, still braced for a duel.

What he heard instead was voices. In the plural. Harry paused, rethinking his evaluation of the situation. It was entirely possible that Snape had just had an unexpected visitor and went into the back room to deal with them, and had expected Harry to wait in the office. It was entirely possible that he was not a devious mastermind whose every move was part of a wider, tangled plot at all times.

Harry scoffed silently to himself at that last thought.

He listened at the door, trying to get an idea of what was going on inside and how many people were there. All he could see currently was a shelf of ingredients and an stack of empty cauldrons on the floor in the corner.

"But you must listen; it's getting darker, Severus." This from an urgent, unfamiliar voice, standing in the centre of the room, from the sound of it. "It hasn't been this clear since before he fell. What-"

"I have noticed, Karkaroff." Snape now, sounding impatient. "What do you want me to tell you? You have seen the signs as clearly as I have."

Harry wasn't following this conversation at all.

"Severus, I don't know-"

"Igor, _bite your tongue._"

"But Severus, I-"

There was a flurry of movement out of Harry's view, and Harry leapt away and positioned himself in front of the exit. Snape flung the door open and gestured for Karkaroff to leave first.

Karkaroff looked ready to have a stroke when he set eyes on Harry. Snape was not surprised to see him in the slightest, and ushered the headmaster of Durmstrang past Harry, who had stepped away from the door.

"Can I help you, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked blandly as he opened the door to allow a still white Karkaroff exit.

Harry looked between the two and nodded. "I had a question about our Potions assignment, sir. I don't quite understand what you want us to write in the section about boomslang venom."

Snape nodded dismissively at a chair in front of his desk, and Harry sat down to wait as Karkaroff made a hasty exit.

Snape closed the door firmly behind him, and set up the usual privacy wards before turning around and sending a blasting charm at Harry, who barely deflected it in time.

"_Today you will learn to creatively counter elemental curses,_" Snape hissed. Harry summoned a cauldron to block the next couple spells and sent back a few curses of his own for good measure.

"_Yes, sir,_" Harry said, and tensed as he felt Snape break through the first layer of his Occlumency defences. He decided to keep the Mark he'd seen on Karkaroff's arm as he left the potion's lab to himself, and began constructing a layer of decoy shields to protect it. He knew what it meant. Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, and he was worried about something to do with his Mark. Snape only seemed annoyed by his concern, though. Harry blocked a curse and responded, still building his shields. It was as good a bit of information to protect as any other.

* * *

"Are you sick of it yet, Hermione?" Harry asked behind his book. He was sitting next to her at the usual table in the library, mostly for the view. Krum was sitting at a nearby table, and would sometimes glance up from his books and check that Hermione was still there. Hermione always smiled, and sometimes gave him a small wave.

Two tables down, Ron would glare darkly and usually rip the parchment he was writing on, a mistake which would require at least another full minute of muttered curses and wand waving to fix.

Whenever Ron was distracted by his ripped parchment, Finnegan and Thomas, who were sitting with him, would look up and catch the eye of someone at Hermione's table, usually Dudley or Neville, and they would all spend a moment in shared (but silent) snickers.

Hermione would usually roll her eyes at this point, and Krum would study on obliviously until he next felt the need to look up at Hermione.

And this, Harry reflected, did not even include the group of girls lurking in the Invisibility Section behind Krum, staring at him and glaring daggers at Hermione on a schedule all their own. He only knew they were there because of a chance encounter half an hour ago, when he'd been looking for a reference text for his History of Magic essay and came upon them unwittingly.

"Am I sick of Ron being a child, do you mean?" she asked, flipping cursorily through a book and setting it aside. "Yes. He knows that when he apologises, I'll forgive him for what he said. He doesn't need to sulk over there and glare at Viktor. He's not the one at fault here."

Harry made a sceptical face. Neville caught it and apparently understood, shaking his head and shrugging. It seemed that neither of them was exactly sure if Hermione knew what had Ron sitting at a different table, glaring at Krum.

Either way, Harry wasn't about to tell her. Krum looked up again, and Harry waited for Hermione to play her part in the pantomime before speaking again.

"I don't live in Gryffindor with the rest of you, so you'll have to fill me in here," he began. "But… what _did_ Ron say to you?"

Hermione pressed her lips together, and her jaw tightened. "He was upset that I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor," she said.

"Yes, but that was in December," Harry interrupted. Hermione gave him a quelling look.

"I _know_, but when I was the person Viktor had to pull out of the lake, Ron decided it was time to… state his grievances."

"He mostly just sulked about it in the dorm room before," Dudley added helpfully. "He never actually mentioned anything to Hermione until Friday."

"He claimed I was 'fraternizing with the enemy'," Hermione said, sounding faintly scandalized. "Though whose enemy Viktor is meant to be, I don't know. Ron spent most of the First Task rooting for Fleur Delacour. He doesn't even particularly like Cedric."

Harry rested his chin on his fist and grinned at Neville and Dudley. "The enemy, eh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was getting a lot of practice at that today. "Yes. He also called me a traitor to Hogwarts and Great Britain in general, and…" She paused. Harry swivelled his head to look at her. Her face was a strange mix of emotion. "…and he also called me a harlot."

Harry sat up in his chair and felt his mouth fall open. "That prick!" He glared over at Ron, who was currently still in the cursing at his parchment phase of the cycle and didn't notice.

Hermione's face darkened for a moment. "He did. And the thing is, I mean, I know he was upset, and I know what he meant was awful, but…"

The strange expression was back, and Harry realized she was restraining incredulity. "Who calls someone a harlot?"

Neville leaned in confidingly. "She laughed in his face," he shared. "Ron got really embarrassed and stomped back up to our dorm."

Harry shook his head slowly and looked back over at Ron, who was staring fiercely at his parchment. Hermione shrugged, embarrassed, and bent over her books.

Moments later, Krum glanced up again.


	44. The Girl

March was bitterly cold, and Harry's snake spent most of her time curled around his neck. Harry didn't mind the company; often she would keep a running dialogue going in his ear about the various scents in the air, and Harry was kept continually apprised of what was for meals and where Anthony and Snape were in proximity to him, as well as how close the nearest prey happened to be, and would Harry kindly nip over to that mouse hole and fetch it for her?

Harry was cleaning for Filch one Saturday morning with a similar conversation being carried on in the background of his attention. From time to time he would hiss the Parseltongue equivalent of 'hmm, yes, that's fascinating,' to the tower windows as he scrubbed them. He had been going about this peacefully for the better part of the morning, having had an early breakfast, when he was interrupted suddenly by a passing group of Ravenclaws. Harry would usually ignore them, but when they saw him, their conversation dropped off and they stared.

Never a good sign, generally speaking. Harry didn't know any of these Ravenclaws particularly well, so he didn't bother saying anything. They walked past at a rapid clip, still gawking, and he looked back, quietly nonplussed.

After those Ravenclaws rounded the corner, Harry stashed his supplies in a cupboard and made a beeline for the nearest staircase, nearly knocking someone over in his rush as she reached the landing.

He grabbed her arm to steady her and started to apologise, until he got a good look at her. She was one of his year mates in Ravenclaw, though he didn't know her name. Her dark eyes were currently wide and fixed on him with some alarm.

"Erm," he said, unable to break the eye contact. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I mean… Pardon me."

When she broke their stare, it was only to look down at her forearm, which he was still holding. Harry let go as though he'd been burned and flushed.

"Sorry, I- er... Sorry." He had never been more embarrassed in his life, and she had yet to even say a word.

He never did get to hear her speak; when he let go of her arm, she looked him up and down, then glanced past him. He realized quickly that he was standing directly in her path and stumbled back out of the way. She gave him one more glance, still looking somewhat alarmed, and flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Harry stood quietly for a moment and stared after her, having forgotten completely about the strange looks the other Ravenclaws had been giving him.

She was quite pretty.

* * *

It took another passing group of alarmed Ravenclaws to remind Harry of what he'd been doing. His snake hissed with amusement in his ear the whole time, turning Harry's ears red and causing him to ignore her adamantly.

He hurried down to the library, hoping Hermione or Anthony would have kept their copies of the Daily Prophet. He had a pretty good idea of where the stares were coming from. Now he just needed to know why.

"Is she stalking me?" he asked several minutes later, slapping the Daily Prophet down on the table and turning beseeching eyes on Anthony.

The second page was taken over by Rita Skeeter's trademark inch high scandal font. Parselmouth Potter Exposed!

The entire article was about Harry's ability to speak with snakes, and how he had even taken to 'corrupting young, promising minds with his insidious talents'. Harry let his head drop onto the paper with a thunk.

"Do you speak to Douglas in public?" he asked. Anthony shrugged.

"Not really. Parseltongue is frowned upon in most wizarding circles."

Harry canted his head to one side and looked sideways at him. "Thanks, Anthony. I would never have guessed from this article."

"Well, do you speak to your snake in public?" Anthony asked.

"Not especially," he said, staring down at the grain of the table again, shrugging as he felt her shift against his collar. "I mean, people definitely know I'm a Parselmouth. There was that whole thing in second year. But I don't really advertise it. And I don't know how she'd know I was tutoring you."

Anthony shook his head. "I have no idea. She's got to have some method for listening in on private conversations. But that's hardly surprising."

"You're quite infamous, Harry," Luna said, making Harry startle and lift his head. He hadn't noticed her arrival.

"Hey, Luna," he said. "Thanks, I guess."

She looked at him with her wide, perpetually fascinated eyes, and he remembered the Ravenclaw girl in the stairwell.

"Wh- I mean, er…" Harry stopped, realizing he had no clue how to ask who she was without embarrassing himself in front of Anthony and Luna. "That is, erm..."

Luna was still staring at him, though the quality of the expression had changed. More alarming still was that Anthony's gaze had joined hers.

Harry's snake took this moment to hiss in his ear._ "They know,"_ she said gleefully. _"I can tell by their scent."_

"You're blushing, Harry," Anthony said, furrowing his forehead. "What do we know?" Harry fought the urge to drop his head back to the table and tried instead to master his expression. Luna's expression had gone thoughtful, and broke eye contact to look around the library.

Harry fought with himself internally, but the desire to know who the girl was overrode any embarrassment he might currently be feeling. Besides, this was Anthony and Luna. It was possible that neither of them had ever been embarrassed about anything in their lives. These two of all people wouldn't tease him.

"I saw a girl on my way down from Ravenclaw Tower," he began, ignoring the snickers emanating from his collar. "I think she was in fourth year, and she was really pretty."

Luna beamed at him. So much for not being embarrassed. "Oh, do you fancy her?" she asked. "What did she look like?"

Anthony sized Harry up for a minute. "Did she look like one of the Gryffindor girls?" he asked. Harry thought about it for a second, then his eyes widened and he nodded. He had seen Hermione talking to a girl who looked a lot like his, but with a lot more pink.

"They're twins," Anthony explained. "Her name is Padma Patil. Her sister in Gryffindor is Parvati. Do you fancy her?"

"I... no," Harry muttered. His snake hissed in amusement.

_"He does, he does,"_ she exclaimed. Anthony cocked an ear toward her, and a slow smile began to form on his mouth._ "When he saw her, he nearly fell down a flight of sta-"_

"Yes, that's lovely," Harry said, standing abruptly. Luna glanced between him and the expression on Anthony's face, putting two and two together easily. "Well, thanks for the information," he said, "But I have to be going."

Harry waved over his shoulder as he walked quickly out of the library, face flaming.

_"That was not funny,"_ he muttered, scowling. The snake snickered as Harry descended a flight of stairs two at a time.

_"I was just trying to help,"_ the snake said. _"Don't you think Anthony should have all the information?"_

_"No!"_ Harry rubbed his forehead, where a headache was forming. _"Just. No. And stop talking. We're in a public area. We can't do that anymore."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because I don't want people staring at me when I talk to you,"_ Harry explained. _"I don't like the attention."_

There was a brief silence. _"All that means is you can't respond to me,"_ she pointed out. Then another pause. _"Harry, the female who made your blood smell like the sun is nearby."_

Harry tripped over a flagstone. _"Wh-"_

_"Hush, someone will hear,"_ she admonished gleefully. _"You don't want that, do you? She is very near. Possibly on this floor or the next."_

After a split second of thought, Harry turned away from the next staircase he'd been about to walk down and took an alternate route to the Entrance Hall, ignoring his snake's amused hissing entirely and stopping by the Slytherin dormitory to pick up his cloak and scarf. It was getting warmer outside by slow degrees, but it was still chilly enough that he buttoned his collar up tightly and cast a warming charm before he went out.

He trudged through the snow with no clear goal in mind. Now that they were outside the castle, his snake quieted considerably and burrowed down against his collarbone. It was an effective tactic.

"Harry!"

"Hullo, Harry!"

Harry looked up and saw Hagrid and a smaller figure waving at him from near the Quidditch stands. He quickened his pace and squinted. Looked like Neville.

"Hi Hagrid," he said as he arrived next to them. "Hey, Neville. What are you doing?"

Neville nodded at the pitch, cheeks red with excitement. "They're building the Third Task here. It's a hedge maze like mine, only much bigger. Hagrid said I could help him plot out the paths and some of the built in plant traps. Those are the most dangerous part."

"It'll be twenty five feet high when it's done," Hagrid boomed cheerfully. "Yer welcome to help as well, Harry. Just don' tell anyone, alrigh'?"

"Sure thing, Hagrid," Harry said, and he and Neville grinned at each other.

Hagrid had a pink umbrella and a small wheeled device with him, which was filled with green powder.

"We won' be putting down roots till May," Hagrid explained as they stood and looked at the pitch. "They'll be wantin' ter plan it all out now though. Where it all goes and what kinda creatures and the sort. We'll on'y be suggestin' things tonight."

"The entrance could go there," Neville suggested, and the three of them walked over to where he'd pointed, about halfway down the pitch. "That way almost everyone can see, and they'll have a few directions to choose from almost immediately."

Harry tried to picture the smooth grass of the Quidditch pitch replaced by hedges and felt a twinge of distaste. He resolved to take frequent advantage of the pitch before it was ruined in May.

Hagrid nodded, surveying the spot had Neville suggested and wheeling the device over. He flipped a switch on the handle and powder began pouring out of the bottom as he walked it along the perimeter of where the maze would be. Harry and Neville followed, watching the powder flow up from where it touched the patches of grass and snow and form thin green walls two feet high.

They walked around the pitch as Hagrid muttered to himself about lengths and feet and occasionally twitched his umbrella.

"Saw you in the paper this morning, Harry," Neville said as they walked.

"Yeah." Harry scowled. "I don't know how she found out I was teaching Anthony Parseltongue."

"Hermione and Dudley and I were talking about it, actually," Neville said, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Dudley said Skeeter's like a super spy and has us all 'bugged'." He paused. "He and Hermione seemed to know what that meant. Of course, Hermione shot that down immediately, because-"

"Hogwarts, a History says electronics can't work around a lot of magic, I'll bet," Harry finished, nodding. "I wondered the same thing, actually, but then I remembered that Dudley tried to bring his Gameboy to school last year and it nearly set his bag on fire when he got on the Platform. Uncle Vernon had to buy him a new one."

They took the last turn in the large rectangle Hagrid was making and started walking back toward the beginning of the wall. "Either way, she's got some way of watching me without me knowing it, and I don't like it," Harry continued. "Who holds a grudge this long, anyway? Why hasn't she found someone else to harass by now?"

Neville shrugged. "She's been reporting on the Champions a lot too. Mostly you get coverage when there's nothing going on with the Tournament, haven't you noticed?"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I have," he said. "And I'm guessing Hermione has too."

Grinning, Neville kicked at the powder wall experimentally. The toe of his boot passed right through and came out covered in a fine layer of green. The wall wobbled a bit.

"Careful there," Hagrid called back over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Hagrid," Neville responded, and shook the dust off his foot. Hagrid closed the rectangle with his powder and pressed the switch on the device. The three of them stood inside, looking around.

"Three different paths from here, each three feet across," Hagrid said, and started demarcating them with his umbrella. As he waved, powder flew from the outer walls and formed new walls in the interior. Neville pulled out his wand and tilted his head.

"Are they all going in at once?" Harry asked. Hagrid shook his head.

"Most points goes first," he explained.

"So Diggory starts," Neville added.

"They won't see which way the others went," Harry said, drawing his own wand. "Which means they're not just going to each take a separate path. They might follow each other without realizing it."

"There should be a trap that triggers for the second person to trip it," Neville agreed. "An Assassin's Vine would work well. On the middle one, probably."

They each took a path and built walls for it. Hagrid finished first, right in the center of the maze, and waved to both of them.

"They'll be endin' here," he explained as Harry brought his path around to meet the middle. "This is where the Cup'll sit."

"Now we need to build the branching paths," Neville said with a grin. His cheeks were red with cold, but he looked like he was having the time of his life. "This is the part where we get to be clever."

They got to work, and within a couple hours, Hagrid called a halt.

"Looks like we're nearly done," he said. "We'll trace it out and work it out a bit more, but this looks fine."

"I want to see the full effect," Neville said. "I'm gonna go up in the stands for a minute, Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded and waved him away, scribbling on a piece of parchment.

"Come on, Harry," Neville said, and opened up a hole in the green mist so that they could walk through without covering themselves in the stuff.

"Bet the Champions are going to wish they could do that," Harry said, and Neville laughed.

"They will if we did it right."

They climbed to the top of the Ravenclaw stands in amicable silence, and Neville whooped when they reached the top and were able to look at the maze from above.

"Look at that, Harry," he said proudly. "That is twisty."

Harry peered at it. "That is twisty," he said, and pointed out an especially nasty section. "Who did that part?"

"I think that was Hagrid," Neville said, leaning over the side of the stands to get a better look. "But I added the Venemous Tentacula at the end of it."

They spent a few minutes longer at the top of the stands. Neville was examining the maze in more detail, but Harry grew bored of that quickly, and started looking around. He could see the gates that led to Hogsmeade from here, distantly.

There was a figure standing at the gates, holding a wand. It looked like they were trying to break through. Harry frowned, and walked to the other side of the stands to get a better view. They really were trying to break the gates down by force.

It was strange, because they were inside the gates. They were trying to break out.

"Hey, Neville," Harry called, still staring at the figure. "Come look at this."

Neville abandoned his examination of the maze and tripped over a few seats on the way to Harry's side of the stands.

"Look at the gates, by Hogsmeade."

Neville leaned past Harry and peered in the direction he was pointing. "What are they doing?"

"I don't know." They watched together in silence as the figure threw another spell at the gates. They seemed frustrated.

"It can't be a student," Neville said after a minute. "They're too tall, and the robes are all wrong."

"That's no professor I know," Harry said. "Maybe it's one of the Beauxbaton students?"

"Or someone from Durmstrang," Neville agreed. "But why are they attacking the gates?"

"Seems a bit rude." They stared for a minute longer. Harry debated with his inner Slytherin for a minute or two, but Neville made the suggestion first.

"Want to go get a closer look?"

"Neville, that is a terrible idea," Harry said, deadpan. "What if they're crazy or they attack us or something?"

Neville looked at him from the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, alright," Harry said. "Let's go."

They waved at Hagrid as they left the pitch, walking along the sloping path to Hogsmeade.

"Look," Harry said as they approached the gates. "Pansy will kill me if we do this like Gryffindors. Let's at least sneak up on them."

"Right," Neville said, and they ducked off the trail, instead creeping along at an angle that kept a small copse of trees between them and the figure. When they reached the trees, they got as close as they could without leaving their cover, and peeked out at the gates again. Neville elbowed Harry and pointed, his expression confused. Harry nodded. He'd noticed too. The gates were open, but the person was still casting at them.

"Who is that?" Neville asked. Harry squinted at the figure as they tugged their slipping cloak back over their head. It was a woman with surprisingly blonde hair.

"Speak of the devil," Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes. "That's Rita Skeeter."

* * *

"What was she doing?" Harry asked, after Skeeter had finally stormed off in the direction of the lake. They were standing where she had been, examining the gates. Neville prodded at the metal with his wand.

"They're open," he shrugged. "I mean..." He stepped through the gates, turned around in a circle, and stepped back inside. "See?"

"D'you think she's stuck on the grounds?" Harry suggested, rubbing at the top of his head thoughtfully. "Why, though? Who would do that to us?"

Neville snickered. "No idea," he shrugged. "We should keep an eye on her or something, don't you think?"

"Maybe I can keep her from publishing things about me if I tell her I know," Harry said thoughtfully. "She clearly doesn't want to be discovered."

"Seems like the kind of idea a Slytherin would have," Neville said, smiling to soften the pseudo-insult. "Anyway, I'm going in for lunch. You?"

Harry nodded, and they set off toward the castle together. They had nearly reached the doors when a thought occured to Harry. "I'm going to run back to my dorm and grab something," he said, and they parted ways in the Entrance Hall.

He hadn't used his Map in a while. It had been sitting at the bottom of his trunk for at least a few weeks now, which was a shame. Harry resolved to change that.

Right after he found it. A quick dig through his trunk revealed no battered parchment, aside from an old essay. Harry frowned and checked his bedside table. Nothing.

The Map wasn't in his school bag either.

Or under the bed. Or under the mattress. Or in any of his pockets. Or caught in his hangings. Or anywhere.

Harry stopped searching and stared around his part of the dorm, feeling a bit panicked. He loved that Map. Not to mention, it was incredibly valuable to anyone on Hogwarts grounds. Maybe Blaise or Pansy had borrowed it?

He found them on a couch together in the common room, and had his hopes dashed.

"Sorry, Harry," Blaise said, sitting with an arm draped around Pansy's shoulders. "I haven't seen it."

Pansy shook her head as well. "Did you let someone borrow it?"

Harry shook his head, resolving at the back of his mind to interrogate all his Gryffindor and Ravenclaw friends, just in case he had inexplicably forgotten about handing over one of his prized (underused, said a guilty part of his mind) possessions.

He went back to his dormitory to search more thoroughly, and found Draco there. It was always awkward when the two of them found themselves alone in the dorm room with no Blaise to play buffer, but today Harry had other things on his mind. He dropped to the floor in front of his bed and crawled underneath, ignoring Draco entirely.

They passed about a minute in silence, but Harry had known that would never last.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked in a pseudo-casual tone.

"None of your business," Harry said, coming out from underneath the bed and stripping the sheets off his mattress. He paused, holding the pile of bedding in his hands, and looked at Draco. He might have taken it, however much Harry didn't like to think it of him.

"My Map is missing," he said, watching for Draco's reaction. There wasn't much of one, just a bit of a frown, and Harry continued in a pointed tone. "It's rather important that I find it."

"Right," Draco said, shoulders suddenly slumping. "I'll keep an eye out for it."

"Right." Harry tossed his bedding back on the mattress. It wasn't in his room. He was just wasting his time here. He'd go ask his friends in the other Houses instead.

Draco didn't say anything as Harry left.

* * *

_A/N: Can I just reiterate that this story does not contain OTPs? Do not freak out about Padma. Please. I beg you. I don't care if you don't like her or if you love her and want them to get married. He's fourteen._

_Also, yes. That was a WoW reference. Sue me. (Please don't sue me.)_

_Alright, so since I couldn't figure out how to fit this conversation into the story proper (I did, though. This should have gone at the end of the chapter when he got the owl, and I'm putting it there, but I'm putting it here too so you all get to see it), you get to read it as a cookie at the end of a chapter. This happened back in December, guys! Thanks to bungler, goku, and Nahmen, whose names of choice I used as suggestions, and to Diimortal, whose name of choice I couldn't NOT use. I am such an obnoxious owl-namer. XD_

* * *

"How about we name him Paracelsus?" Harry consulted the list he and Hermione had complied. "It's the name of a famous alchemist."

"Too dignified."

"What do you think of Shiva? It's a Hindu god, also known as the destroyer."

"Fitting." His snake coiled more comfortably around his wrist as she considered the name. "I don't like it."

"Loki? The trickster god. He turned evil and the other gods had to chain him to a rock."

"Could we chain the bird to a rock?"

Harry snorted. "No."

"Then no."

"How about something simple, then. Gall, the patron saint of birds."

"That bird is not a saint. Don't be deceptive, Harry."

Harry laughed out loud, startling a passing second year. "Alright, we'll forget the saints and gods then. How about Abaddon? It means chaos and destruction."

The snake turned this over thoughtfully. "I like it. But it still sounds too dignified."

Harry shook his head. "Well of course he's going to have a dignified name. I'm not going to name him Stormageddon or something ridiculous like that."

The snake reared up with interest. "What does that mean?"

Harry ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "I don't know. It's a storm crossed with an Armageddon, which is the end of the world. But it's not a real name."

"I like it," she said adamantly. "We will call your bird Stormageddon."

Harry laughed. "No we won't. I think I'm going to go with Loki, actually."

"No, Stormageddon is perfect," the snake said firmly, and wouldn't hear another word on it. Harry made the mistake of telling Blaise and Dudley about the conversation, and from then on, everyone but Harry called his bird Stormageddon. It got to the point that Loki started answering to that instead, to Harry's immense frustration.


	45. The Headaches

The Map continued to be missing, no matter where Harry searched over the course of the next couple weeks. He had asked everyone who knew of its existence, but to no avail. The dreaded thought of letting Sirius and Remus know that he had lost it made his stomach clench, but it kept reoccurring to him. Maybe there was some kind of recovery charm on it? It wasn't unlikely. The Marauders had put all manner of safeguards on the Map, after all.

He hadn't forgotten why he was looking for the Map in the first place, either. He and Neville brought it up at the library one day, and Dudley and Hermione were intrigued.

"She was trying to break out?" Hermione asked. "You're sure?"

"Pretty positive," Neville said. "That was what was so odd about it."

"And the gate was open?" Dudley grinned. "She could have just walked out."

"She couldn't, though," Hermione said. "I mean, unless she's gone insane, there would be no other reason to attack the gates like that."

Harry and Dudley shared a significant glance.

"No, I don't think she's gone insane," Hermione said wryly. "Her articles are as lucid as ever."

"Define 'lucid'," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples.

"How would she have gotten stuck on campus, though?" Neville asked. "It makes no sense."

"And how can I use this to keep her from writing more articles about me?" Harry added. "That's the important question."

"She's not supposed to be on campus without permission," Hermione said. "I would suggest that we go to a teacher-" She cast Harry a quelling glance when he opened his mouth. "Except that Harry here obviously wants to resort to blackmail." She only looked mildly disapproving, so Harry subsided into his seat, satisfied.

"I can't blackmail her without knowing what's happened to trap her here," Harry pointed out.

"We'll look into it, then," Hermione said primly. "Keep your eyes and ears open in the meantime."

Harry smiled. He had a feeling he was a bad influence on these Gryffindors.

* * *

The loss of the Map and the Rita Skeeter situation had Harry feeling stressed, and the intermittent headaches that started getting worse in April weren't helping. Harry was sitting in a chair in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room, rubbing his head and trying to read his Transfiguration text when Blaise dropped into the chair across from him.

"Hey, Harry," he said. Harry gratefully gave up on the book, setting it on the end table next to him.

"Hi Blaise," he replied. "Where's Pansy?"

Blaise waved a careless hand. "Oh, you know how Pansy is," he said. "Probably off sacrificing a kitten or something."

Harry bit down on a bemused smile. Pansy and Blaise had the weirdest relationship.

"Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Blaise continued. "I talked to Draco the other day."

Harry felt the smile drop off his face. "What did he say?"

"He said you said he stole your Map."

"I did not!" Harry sat straight up in his chair, slack jawed. "I just asked him if he'd seen it!"

Blaise raised a very sceptical eyebrow at Harry. "And you didn't sound accusatory in the slightest, I'm sure."

"I didn't," he insisted. "I just asked him a simple question, Blaise. If he's going to go around lying-"

"Harry!" Blaise leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "Just shut up a second!"

Blaise's reaction startled Harry. He sat back in his seat and went silent, though he was still fuming internally.

"You're both idiots," Blaise said, lifting his head and glaring.

"But you have to admit that-" Blaise interrupted Harry with another glare.

"No. You're wrong." Blaise ignored Harry's appalled expression and continued. "Draco is wrong too. You're both wrong and you're both right, and you're both so fucking emotional about it that I can't push either of you into being sensible enough to apologise!"

Harry was floored. Blaise had seemed so understanding before now. Harry knew on some level that he was frustrated by Harry and Draco falling out, but he hadn't realized Blaise was this upset.

"Usually I can just push the two of you into being decent human beings when you're having an argument. I'm very good at manipulating people, Harry!" Blaise stood up and paced in front of the chairs, frustrated. "But it's been months and months and you won't stop fighting! But of course, neither of you are willing to just ignore the other, and you're both so volatile when it comes to the other that I don't want to talk to either of you anymore! I hate you both right now."

"Wait, are you-"

"No, Harry, I'm not telling you I don't want to be friends with you," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "Because I can act like a rational fucking human being when I'm mad at someone, and separate the argument from the person."

Harry blinked up at Blaise, not sure whether to be extremely insulted or... extremely insulted in a more quiet way.

"I had this same exact conversation with Draco," Blaise told him. "And he reacted the same way. You two are too much alike for your own good."

And with that, he stormed out of the common room, leaving Harry gaping after him.

* * *

Harry spent the next few weeks trying hard not to talk about Draco with Blaise. He hadn't actually realized how often he did it until he tried to stop. It was eye-opening. He had thought he was ready to never speak to or about Draco again, but apparently that was just patently untrue.

It turned out that Pansy and Blaise had had their own things to tell Harry that had not managed to make it through the conversational jam. Harry was appalled to discover that they had been an item for only the past four months out of six.

He had assumed they were dating the entire time, but according to Pansy, Blaise was a bit of an obnoxious arguer (something Harry privately agreed with), and according to Blaise, Pansy was irrationally sensitive about the strangest subjects. As a result, they had broken up and reunited a total of four times already.

When Harry mentioned that he felt awful for not knowing this, Pansy raised an eyebrow and said archly, "Well, you should. We eat meals together every day, Harry. Blaise sleeps in the same room as you. Do try to keep up in the future."

He ended up telling Pansy and Blaise about Padma, in the hope that Pansy might know more about her. Harry had not managed to actually speak to Padma again, in part because he had no idea what he would say, and in part because when his snake mentioned she was nearby, he tended to lose all courage and take an alternative route to his destination.

They were in a lot of classes together, which Harry felt he should have known before Pansy pointed it out.

"You're absolutely oblivious, Harry," Pansy told him fondly. "I'll bet you don't know a single Hufflepuff's name, do you?"

Harry did not deign to answer this question, and started sitting with Anthony in some of the classes they had together, since Anthony always sat on the Ravenclaw side near Padma. Harry's snake kept up a distinctly un-funny commentary during these classes that usually had Anthony stifling amusement until dismissal.

* * *

The headaches had not gone away by the middle of May, and when Hermione found out, she forced Harry up to the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey tutted over him and pushed potions on him which only reduced the pain for a few days.

Studying for exams in this state was awful, and interruptions were welcome. Harry didn't even mind Poliakoff anymore, though he always seemed to find Harry during his free period these days, usually just to talk about some nonsensical thing or invite Harry to go for a walk. Harry usually refused the walks, since he really didn't want to encourage Poliakoff too much. He was a persistent sort.

The headaches got so bad that even Snape took notice during an Occlumency lesson one day.

_"Where does it hurt?" _Snape hissed, lowering his wand and approaching Harry's chair with a strange expression. Harry frowned at him and touched his scar.

_"My forehead," _he said. _"I thought it might have been my scar at first, but it's just that whole side of my head, really. It just happens sometimes, it's not a big deal."_

_"How often?" _Snape asked, peering into Harry's eyes and tapping his wand thoughtfully against his palm.

_"In the morning, usually," _Harry said. _"And sometimes after classes are over, like right now. I've taken potions for them, but they don't really help much."_

_"Have you had any strange dreams lately?" _Snape tilted Harry's chin and examined his scar. Harry let him, nonplussed and slightly uncomfortable.

_"Nothing notable," _Harry said.

_"No nightmares?" _Snape inquired, letting Harry go and stepping back to observe him more fully.

_"No." _Harry shrugged_. "Except one where I was being chased by a manitcore last week."  
_  
Snape frowned and fell silent. Harry shifted under his stare.

_"You clear your mind every night before you sleep, I assume," _Snape said eventually. Harry nodded. It had become a habit by now. _"You practice your Occlumency even when we are not actively working on it here."_Harry nodded again. Snape examined him again, then nodded himself.

_"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," _he said. _"I believe you have actually managed to successfully occlude your mind."_

_"You can tell because I have headaches?" _Harry asked, bewildered. _"Is that normal?"_

_"If someone is continuously trying to intrude and you are successfully repelling them, as I believe you are, then headaches are not uncommon."  
_  
"Who's trying to intrude in my mind?" Harry exclaimed, switching back to English in his alarm. The headaches were frequent! Whoever it was must have been dedicated.

Snape stared at him for another long moment, his face impassive. _"I have only suspicions," _he admitted eventually, in pointed Parseltongue_. "I will speak with the Headmaster about your situation, if you will allow it, and keep you informed."  
_  
Harry nodded with haste. He didn't like the idea of someone else trying to break into his mind. His mind was his, and no one else had a right to be in there unless he let them.

* * *

Harry had a History of Magic exam on the day of the third Task, which was a strange contrast.

"This was the most exhausting morning I've had in weeks," Blaise summarized. "But tonight is hopefully going to be exciting. It doesn't seem right to put the two together like that."

Dusk found everyone gathering at the Quidditch pitch, which had been destroyed back in May just as Hagrid promised. Harry still grimaced at the sight of it, and he could see his fellow Quidditch players in the stands making the same face. The hedge maze was twenty feet high, and covered almost the entire length of the pitch. From the stands, one couldn't see down into the maze itself. All that was visible was the centre, where a tiny glint of gold hinted at the position of the Cup. Hagrid, McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick were all crowded around the entrance, pinning red stars to their hats (or in Hagrid's case, his vest).

"Ladies and gentleman, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with eighty-five points, Mr. Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts School!"

The cheers and applause were deafening. Harry and his friends joined in, whistling loudly for their school. He was sitting with Pansy and Blaise again, and Anthony and Luna had joined them. Harry could see his Gryffindor friends in a set of stands across the field, beaming and cheering with the rest of the Hogwarts students.

"In second place, with eighty points - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute! And in third place - Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbaton Academy!"

As the applause died down, Bagman spoke again. "So... on my whistle, Cedric! Three - two - one -"

Diggory hurried forward into the maze at the sound of the whistle, and soon disappeared within. A ghostly arrow appeared above the hedges, marking Cedric's current position.

"Mr. Viktor Krum is next, again, with eighty points. Viktor, on my whistle!"

Krum wasted no time when the short blast sounded, hurrying in after Diggory, his own ghostly arrow moving at a rapid clip.

"Miss Fleur Delacour, in third place, on my whistle!"

With that, all three Champions were inside the maze.

"Now, if those of you in the stands look closely, you will notice designators for each Champion," Bagman explained. "And if you look more closely still, you will see that there are more than just Champions in that maze!"

True to Bagman's word, other arrows were popping up, each with a picture hovering over it.

"That's one of those awful Blast-ended Skrewts of Hagrid's!" Harry said, catching sight of one of the pictures.

"It's headed right for Diggory," Pansy said, grabbing Blaise's arm. "Oh Merlin, it's got him, hasn't it?"

All they could see was that the two arrows had collided. The rest was left up to the imagination. Harry thought that was incredibly cruel.

"Oh, look," Luna said. "Viktor Krum has found the boggart."

"That's a nundu," Blaise said, peering at the picture. "No wonder the death rate in this Tournament is so high."

"It wasn't a nundu minute ago," Anthony said. Indeed, moments later, the arrow coalesced back into an indistinct shape, and Krum's arrow sped away.

Bagman's commentary helped to shed some light on what might potentially be happening inside the maze, but the crowd was almost too loud to hear him. It seemed like everyone was having conversations like theirs. In fact, Harry's head started hurting, the crowd was so loud.

He hoped this wasn't the beginning of another one of his Occlumency headaches. He didn't like the idea that right at that moment, someone might be trying to get into his head. Snape had come back to him with only vague possibilities: someone connected to Voldemort might be trying to attack Harry, and all he could do was to continue to resist, to practice as often as possible, and to be careful when he wasn't on school grounds.

The longer he sat in the stands, the more he realized that this headache wasn't going away. The noise was only making it worse. Harry squinted down at the maze, but he couldn't get into the conversation his friends were having. The excitement was ebbing in favour of pain.

"You alright, Harry?" Harry wasn't sure who asked this, but he responded in the negative anyway. "Another headache? Oh, that's awful."

This headache was worse than most, actually. Harry realized this when he stood up to get away from the noise and found his head spinning.

"I've got him," someone said, and a hand gripped his arm. Harry descended the steps from the stands with the person at his side, and as the noise became more distant, he found the headache abating enough to look up and thank Anthony, who seemed somewhat concerned.

"I'm fine," Harry said, grimacing. "It'll go away in a few minutes and I'll come back up."

"You sure?" Anthony asked, peering at Harry's face. He didn't imagine that he looked good.

"Yeah, go ahead, really," Harry said, waving him off and walking a few feet to demonstrate how fine he was.

Anthony gave him one last searching look, but eventually disappeared back up the stairs.

Once Anthony was gone, Harry sagged and closed his eyes again. It really was an awful headache.

"Are you okay, Harry?" It was a new voice this time, and Harry blinked his eyes open to look at Poliakoff. He sighed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just another headache."

"I know a spell to fix headaches," Poliakoff offered, and reached into his pocket.

"I don't know," Harry said, uncertain. "It's not that big of a deal."

"You are in pain, Harry," Poliakoff said, wand now in hand. "It is a good spell. Just relax."

Harry felt a serene calm settling over him. It was blissful and strangely familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. It didn't bother Harry. At the moment, all he cared about was that his headache had disappeared.

"Come with me, Harry." Poliakoff's voice floated toward him, and Harry obeyed without thinking. They started walking together across the grounds.

It was strange, how familiar the feeling was. He felt happy and clam and worry free, but there was some part of him that didn't like it, that wanted to break out of the bliss and reject it. Harry blinked, his thoughts coming slowly.

"Keep walking, Harry."

And wasn't it weird how he was almost hearing Poliakoff's voice inside his head, instead out from his mouth? And why was he doing what Poliakoff said, anyway? He never wanted to do things with Poliakoff. Poliakoff was kind of weird. Harry avoided him at all costs, usually.

Wait.

Wait a minute.

The world returned to clarity with a jolt like a bucket of cold water, and Harry realized he was standing in front of the gates to Hogsmeade, next to Poliakoff.

"Wait a min-" Harry began, stumbling backward. Poliakoff had already grabbed him and gotten a good grip around Harry's waist, suddenly looking nothing like his usual bumbling self. Harry struggled, alarmed. "Hey! Let me go!"

Harry fought back and reached for his wand, but apparently Poliakoff had already taken it off him during their walk. He covered Harry's mouth with one palm, picked him up bodily, and ignored his struggles as he dragged him through the gates and off Hogwarts grounds.

Off Hogwarts grounds.

Harry screamed as loudly as he could though Poliakoff's hand, trying to summon some kind of help, but the roar of the crowd was loud enough that no one at the pitch would hear him. And everyone was at the pitch but them.

When they were standing a good twenty feet from the gates, Poliakoff spun them in a circle, Harry still caught in a firm grasp under his arm, impotent though he continued to struggle. Harry felt an awful sensation, like he was being squeezed through a tiny tube. It was worse than a portkey.

When they slammed into existence again, Poliakoff let go. Harry fell to his knees, gagging and retching. When he finally regained control of his stomach, he looked up, trembling, to see a gravestone.


	46. The Graveyard

_Uh. **WARNINGS** for torture and character death. And... language? So. Yeah. This shit is M rated right here._

* * *

Harry was in a graveyard. With Poliakoff. Who had suddenly morphed from bumbling Durmstrang student to hostile attacker.

Stumbling away from the gravestone on his hands and knees, Harry panicked as he felt hands grab his arms and tug him to his feet again. Before he could react, he was being dragged bodily across a graveyard toward a bubbling cauldron.

There was a small creature standing next to the cauldron, and as Poliakoff slammed him against another headstone, Harry realized it was a house elf, holding what looked like a baby.

The whole situation was surreal, and Harry forgot to struggle as Poliakoff bound him to the headstone. He was too busy staring at the elf and the baby and the cauldron, wondering what the combination could possibly mean for him.

"I see you finally managed to get away." The voice was high and cold, and Harry felt his headache redouble with the words. He nearly didn't notice the enormous snake slither past, hissing. Nearly. It reminded him of his own snake, and he only then realized she was gone. He hoped she was okay.

"My lord, I apologise," Poliakoff said, but his voice was different. Harry twisted his head and caught sight of Poliakoff's features melting into someone he hadn't seen in years.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry nearly choked on the name. The last thing Harry remembered hearing of him was that he had duelled with Dumbledore over the Stone. Harry had assumed he'd died or something. Apparently not.

"Crouch should be along in a minute," Quirrell said, ignoring Harry except to shoot a spell at him. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. His alarm redoubled. "I gave him the signal before I left."

"Good," the voice said. Harry realized with horror that it was coming from the baby-shaped bundle in the house elf's arms. There weren't many people that voice could belong to, considering the way Quirrell had addressed it. Quirrell left Harry's side and lit a fire under the cauldron. Harry's headache redoubled as the house elf stepped out of Quirrell's way and ended up nearer to Harry. He gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to breathe normally. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't.

A sharp crack sounded, and Harry nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Karkaroff is unfaithful." The gruff voice belonged to Professor Moody, and Harry was officially panicking. Moody was in on this too? Did that mean that Crouch, whoever he was, was still coming?

But no. The man who appeared in Harry's vision a few moments later was not Professor Moody, though he was holding an eye and hopping along as he walked. His actual leg was in process of growing back, and the wooden leg had popped off. Behind him, another man floated through the air, unconscious.

"Brought him along for you," Not-Moody said. Behind him, the cauldron spat what looked like diamonds as Quirrell continued tending to it.

"It's ready, Master," Quirrell said, stepping back from the flames. The house elf handed the bundle off to Quirrell, who removed the cloth swaddling it. Harry received a nasty shock when he saw the scaly, reddish black parody of the body of a human child inside. The face was less a parody and more a disgusting non sequitur.

His head was hurting so badly now that it felt like his skull was burning, but he squeezed his eyes shut. Getting out of here as soon as possible was his highest priority. Nothing good could come of what was about to happen. Ignoring the pain in his head, he focused on breaking the silencing spell.

He had just managed it when he heard a splash, and in the silence afterward, the soft thud of the awful creature's body hitting the bottom of the cauldron.

Not-Moody (Crouch, Harry thought through the pain and fear. Who else could he be?) intoned solemnly, "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son."

A noise at Harry's feet made his eyes snap open. Dust rose from the grave he was standing on, causing him to turn his face away and scrabble to move his feet from the cracks in the ground. It floated over and settled in the cauldron with a hiss. The diamond colour was replaced with an awful blue. Harry really needed to get out of here right now. He strained against his bonds, looking for a weak point, but Quirrell had tied him tight. Without any slack to struggle against, there really wasn't much he could do to free himself.

Quirrell pulled out a dagger next, and there was a brief moment when Crouch and Quirrell stared each other down fiercely before Quirrell finally bowed his head and handed the dagger over. Harry held his breath at the sight of it, but he needn't have worried so soon.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given," Crouch said, stretching out his right hand over the cauldron. His voice was far too triumphant for what he did next. "You will revive your master."

He swung the dagger in a graceful arc, and Harry barely clenched his eyes shut in time. The splash was bad enough.

"Blood... of the enemy," Crouch continued, panting, and Harry's eyes snapped open. "Forcibly taken. You will resurrect your foe."

Sure enough, Quirrell was walking toward him, holding the bloody dagger and a vial. Harry had thought he was panicking before, but now his entire mind was given over to blank terror. He did not want that dagger coming near him.

Quirrell reached down and grabbed Harry's arm roughly, and Harry's terror lashed out. The bonds he'd been restrained by only seconds prior were snapping at Quirrell's head and chest. He dropped to his knees on the ground as Quirrell shielded his face with one arm and shouted something.

Harry scrambled to his feet, already darting through the gravestones, but he had forgotten that Quirrell wasn't the only other person present. A spell caught his feet, sending him crashing over a headstone as Crouch approached.

"_Blood of the enemy,_" he snarled, grabbing Harry and hauling him off the headstone with the one hand he had left. Harry clutched at his ribs with one arm and wheezed as he was dragged across the grass to the cauldron by his wrist.

"_Forcibly taken,_" he continued, and Quirrell was there, helping Crouch to lift Harry's arm to hover over the liquid in the cauldron. Harry struggled, scrabbling to find his feet on the damp grass, but Quirrell kicked him in the back of the knee and Harry went limp for long enough for his former professor to cut a long gash along his inner elbow. His blood splashed into the cauldron.

"You will resurrect your foe," Crouch spat, tossing Harry on the ground next to the cauldron and stepping back to wait.

Harry lay in the grass, gasping for breath as tears pooled on the bridge of his nose. Quirrell stood over him with a wand, but Harry didn't move. His ribs were on fire and his arm was bleeding profusely, and this was aside from the splitting pain in his head that had only been getting progressively worse. He spared a thought for the creature in the cauldron, and hoped that it had drowned. He also wanted Quirrell and Crouch to fall dead where they stood, but he wasn't picky.

The light from the cauldron suddenly vanished and Harry stiffened, knowing he had to roll over and look, knowing that whatever was behind him now wouldn't disappear because he couldn't see it, but still not managing to compel his frozen muscles into action.

Quirrell rushed past Harry to the cauldron, holding a set of robes. Harry blinked the blurriness out of his eyes and finally forced himself to sit up and look. His eyes locked immediately with those of the man who had just stepped out of the cauldron.

Harry didn't have to be told who this was, and suddenly the name wasn't very funny anymore.

Voldemort.

* * *

"My Lord," Crouch said, and when Voldemort looked up, Crouch bowed and held out his undamaged wrist. He examined Crouch's arm with satisfaction and pressed a long finger to the vivid mark that decorated it.

Harry felt his headache surge. He closed his eyes and checked on his Occlumency walls. They were still strong and shifting, and chains of useless thought still filled the forefront of his mind. Harry retreated behind them, feeling a little bit less hysterical.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it? And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?" Voldemort looked up at the stars, apparently in contemplation. Harry had barely enough time to be relieved that Voldemort wasn't looking at him anymore before he suddenly was. An alarming smile settled on his snakelike features.

"I have heard so many things about you, Harry Potter," he said, pacing closer to where Harry sat huddled in front of the cauldron. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced. I am Lord Voldemort."

The snake slithered past again. Harry struggled to his feet, though he remained silent. He tried not to let his eyes dart around too obviously in his search for an exit strategy.

"The circumstances of our introduction are quite fortuitous, Harry," Voldemort said in a soft voice. "This is the night of my resurrection, and my faithful followers will be here soon!"

He continued pacing as though Harry was as harmless as the house elf that had now subsided behind the cauldron, awaiting instructions. "I'm glad you could finally make it. We've been postponing the party for you, you know."

Voldemort stopped pacing suddenly. "Ah, and here come the guests."

As they gathered around Voldemort, one of the cloaked wizards dropped to his knees and crawled forward instead, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes and murmuring. Harry backed away from the crowd slowly, hoping that the distraction might be enough to give him time to run.

He held his breath as he moved, but the sound of something heavy slithering nearby made him pause and turn. The snake was right behind him, rearing up and showing a full set of fangs as it hissed at him. It was more of an order than actual words, but Harry got the gist anyway. He wasn't leaving in that direction.

The Death Eaters formed a circle around Harry and Voldemort when they had finished their demonstrations. Crouch and Quirrell made their own demonstrations last as the only unmasked figures, Crouch still clutching the stump of his arm and crawling awkwardly on his elbow. Soon it was just Harry and Voldemort in the centre of a crowd.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said.

Harry swallowed and stared around the circle of Death Eaters. They were all intent on watching Voldemort as he spoke to them about loyalty. There were gaps in the circle. He could make a break for it if he got close enough to one of them. He held his bleeding arm to his side and inched toward the nearest, largest gap as Voldemort spoke.

Harry froze and watched in horror as Voldemort cast the Cruciatus curse on one of the wizards and laughed as he screamed. After he let go of the spell, he chastised the circle gently.

"I want thirteen years of repayment before I forgive you," Voldemort said. "Crouch and Quirrell here are the only servants who can be said to be truly loyal. Quirrell, when torn from my side, immediately began searching for a way to return to me. Crouch has spent our years apart imprisoned to prevent him from seeking my presence, and has given his own right hand in pursuit of my return. These are true friends. What so great has kept the rest of you from my side?"

As Voldemort created a silver hand for Crouch and began interrogating his followers, one by one, Harry inched toward the gap in the circle again. If he could get close enough, he thought he might be able to ignore the pain in his head and chest long enough to make a break for it.

Harry was nearly there when he heard Lucius Malfoy's voice respond to a question directed at him from Voldemort. He was cool and swift, and Harry tried not to choke on the fact that this was Draco's father. He and Draco had been best friends, but now, Lucius Malfoy's attention never wavered from Voldemort.

Voldemort moved swiftly along the circle, and cut off Harry's hope of escaping when he stopped in front of the large gap he'd been inching toward. "And here we have five missing Death Eaters," he said. "Three dead in my service. One who I believe has left me forever. He will be killed of course. And one, too cowardly to return. But do not worry. We have found him."

The Death Eaters stirred, and the unconscious man that Crouch had brought with him floated into the centre of the circle, fully conscious now. Harry recognised him from Snape's rooms. It was the headmaster of Durmstrang.

"And of course, I would be remiss if I did not introduce my new friend, who has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party." Voldemort turned and looked directly at Harry who was rooted in place, bare feet from his escape. Voldemort held out a hand as though to present him to the group. "Harry Potter, everyone."

The Death Eaters stood in silence as Voldemort grinned at Harry and Karkaroff.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and spoke to Voldemort. "Master," he began. Harry glared at his cloaked form and swayed on his feet as Lucius spoke, casting around for another means of escape. If only he could get his wand back.

Voldemort responded to Lucius' question at length. Harry listened with one ear, eyeing all the Death Eaters in the hope that one of them might give him an idea or make some kind of mistake that would allow Harry to get away.

"...I was forced to flee after Quirrell's failure, and had thought him dead for many years. I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you then that I didn't fear that I might not regain my powers.

"Despite these worries, Quirrell was stronger than he had first appeared, and returned to me again after a long period of searching. He followed my instructions to return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own..."

The snake wound its way past Harry's feet, corralling him back toward the centre of the circle and hissing wordlessly as Voldemort spoke.

"...I used the information recovered from Quirrell's research to position my two loyal Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Harry Potter was my downfall, but, as I am certain you all know, he is also a Slytherin..."

Voldemort glanced at Harry, his cruel red eyes filled with amusement.

"In fact, Quirrell has uncovered a plethora of information about young Harry's loyalties from his time spent at Hogwarts, posing as a Durmstrang student with an interest in the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry's mind rebelled against this. He had assumed Quirrell had attacked Poliakoff and stolen his hair for the night. Some of the things Voldemort had already said were bad enough, but the idea that Poliakoff had been a Death Eater spying on him and the school for the entire year was almost too much to bear. He had felt bad, wanting to avoid Poliakoff. They had gone flying together!

Quirrell stepped forward from the circle and bowed his head. "My Lord," he said, and proceeded to give a distressingly detailed account of Harry's life over the course of the past year, including (but not limited to) information on all his friends, his opinions on the Dark Arts, and his fight with Draco.

Harry huddled in on himself, clutching his arm to his chest as Quirrell's monologue continued into far greater detail than Harry would have been comfortable with Blaise or Hermione knowing, let alone a circle of people who seemed happy aligning themselves with a man who wanted Harry dead. Even so, it was the conversation about his friendship and fight with Draco that was especially painful to listen to. Draco came off as a bit too sympathetic to Voldemort for Harry's comfort, and Lucius words did not bolster his faith in his once best friend.

"My son is loyal to your cause, my Lord," Lucius said in a confident, obsequious tone. "His friendship with Potter is shallow at best, and as Quirrell has already said, virtually nonexistent this year."

"Be sure that your certitude is valid, Lucius," Voldemort said, tilting his head back and watching Draco's father narrowly.

"It is, my Lord. His original purpose in striking up a friendship was to see how sympathetic Potter would be to your cause, and that question has been answered. Potter is no longer useful to him."

Harry realized distantly that he was shaking. It was hard not to believe the detailed, clinical account of Draco's actions presented by Quirrell, and the confident assurance in his father's voice. And no matter how much evidence of their friendship Harry could point to normally, it was becoming difficult under the circumstances to think of a single thing that proved that Draco had ever liked him at all.

"Very good, Lucius, Quirrell. Now let us continue the accolades. Crouch has earned quite the distinction," Voldemort said, and Crouch stepped forward, his new hand glinting in the flickering wandlight.

"Crouch has done more than offer me his right hand," Voldemort told the group. "He has also found a traitor, and brought him back to us."

The attention of the group was drawn back to the Durmstrang headmaster.

"Karkaroff," Voldemort said in his high, cold voice. "You have been found guilty of treason against your fellow Death Eaters and your Lord. You wear your Dark Mark with regret, do you not?"

Karkaroff whimpered and struggled against his invisible bonds. His face was white and his eyes rolled.

"Master," he gasped. "Master, I beg you..."

"There are no second chances for traitors," Voldemort said. "And no mercy. Crucio."

Karkaroff writhed, shrieking madly. Harry stumbled away from him, staring as his face twisted in agony. A movement caught Harry's eye, and he tripped and fell hard on his ribs in his haste to get out of the way as, one by one, the other Death Eaters lifted their wands. A chorus of crucios rang through the clearing, and Karkaroff was soon reduced to agonized gargling, his throat too raw to scream. After what must have been the longest twenty seconds in recorded history, Voldemort held up a hand and stopped the Death Eaters. Harry lay on his side, breathing harshly and staring in horrified silence as Karkaroff went limp.

"Ennervate," Voldemort said. And then, "Crucio."

The Death Eaters joined him again. To Harry's distress, Karkaroff caught and held his eye as his body contorted with silent pain. Even when his vision went blurry with tears, Harry couldn't look away, and even when Karkaroff passed out, his eyes never closed.

Harry's chest was constricting; the air wasn't getting to his lungs. His bones felt like they were jittering under his skin, he shook so badly. He gasped in painful breaths and tried not to listen as Voldemort repeated the process again and again and again, until the ennervate spell finally stopped working and Karkaroff's pain-maddened eyes were emptied. Harry lay motionless in the grass, still unable to break eye contact with the dead man until Voldemort spoke.

"Let none forget the consequences of treason," he said softly. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly for a long minute, then turned back to Harry with a smile.

"And now for the real festivities." He lifted his wand, and Harry stared at it with frantic anxiety. "Crucio!

Harry had never experienced pain like this. His bones were on fire, and it felt like every inch of his body was being stabbed by thousands of red hot knives. His head was splitting open along his scar. Worse still was the dread, waiting for the Death Eaters to chime in with their own spells, knowing that this unbearable pain was only a fraction of what he might soon be feeling.

But no. Voldemort dropped the spell and smiled again as the laughter of the Death Eaters rang in Harry's ears. Harry sagged, partly from pain, and partly from bone deep relief. He realized distantly that he must have screamed. His throat felt raw.

"I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind," Voldemort announced to the crowd of Death Eaters. "This boy escaped me by a lucky chance."

Harry's brain was feeling dull and he processed the words slowly. Voldemort was saying something important, he knew. The snake slid past Harry's head, hissing impatiently.

"Now help him up, Quirrell, and give him his wand."

Harry's brain jolted, suddenly alert. He scrambled to sit up as the Death Eaters closed ranks around him and Voldemort, leaving no gaps for Harry to escape through. Quirrell grabbed Harry's uninjured arm and yanked him upward, causing Harry to gasp as a searing pain shot through his chest. Quirrell held onto Harry's arm until Harry was standing on his own, and thrust his wand into his hand. When he had finished, he stepped back to his position in the circle.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort's eyes glinted. "We bow to each other, Harry." Voldemort bowed, and Harry knew that he should cooperate. He should avoid angering the powerful Dark wizard with the wand. Pansy would kill him for what he was doing. But he just couldn't bring himself to cooperate.

He had his wand back. If he died now, it wouldn't be because he had walked meekly at Voldemort's heels to the slaughter. He kept his back straight, though he was still shaking badly.

The Death Eaters laughed as Voldemort goaded Harry, but Harry stayed resolutely upright, too stubborn to change his mind now that he had made it up.

"I said bow," Voldemort said, and Harry felt his back curving. It jostled his ribs again, but the indignity of it all, the Death Eaters laughing again, riled Harry more than anything else.

"Very good," Voldemort said, and let Harry stand again. "And now you face me, like a man. Straight-backed and proud, the way your father died."

Harry stared at Voldemort's lipless smile, and realized that he was slowly moving away from panicked hysteria and into angry panicked hysteria.

"And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and out of utter reflex, Harry summoned the broken chunk of headstone at his feet into the path of the spell. The Death Eaters hushed, and even Harry was slightly shocked at his reaction. Snape's brutal lessons had really paid off.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and spit out another spell. Harry wasn't so lucky this time, and before he could move, he was hit with the Cruciatus curse again.

"Not so quick that time," Voldemort hissed, watching Harry stagger to his feet, shaking badly. "That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry didn't respond, except to cast Defodio at him. Voldemort deflected it easily, but it gave Harry time to throw himself behind a gravestone just in time to avoid the answering curse. He sucked in a pained breath and blinked spots out of his eyes. Fuck Snape's rule about flinging himself around. He was already exhausted and weak from horror and probably blood loss, considering that there was still blood dripping from his fingertips. He needed to take cover.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Voldemort said, sweeping nearer. Harry turned so that he was facing the headstone and Voldemort behind it. As Voldemort continued taunting him, Harry poked his wand over the top of the headstone and silently cast a finger-removing jinx in the direction of his voice. There was no light involved in that spell, and Harry could almost hope for the split second after he cast it that it might have hit.

It certainly seemed to have gotten a reaction, judging by Voldemort's next words.

"This is not a game," he snapped. "Your childish spells are ineffective here, Harry. Does this mean you wish to end our duel? Come out and play then. It will be quick. It might even be painless." He paused. "I would not know... I have never died."

The tone Voldemort was using now was colder than it had been when he had been accusing Karkaroff of treason, and it curdled the contents of Harry's stomach. He decided then that engaging Voldemort like this was stupid. The smart thing was what he had been aiming for before Voldemort started taunting him. He should be trying to figure out how to get the hell out of this grave yard while he still could.

He took a careful breath. Then he cast a disillusionment spell over himself and crept as slowly and smoothly as possible to the next headstone. With the spell on, he was able to poke his head out from behind the stone enough to see Voldemort reach the one he had been hiding behind. Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

He stalked toward the next headstone. "You cannot hide from me," he said. Harry held his breath and crept further away, toward the edge of the circle. None of the Death Eaters could have spotted him, else they would have raised the alarm by now. They were all shifting, though none dared to raise a wand and interfere with the 'duel'.

Voldemort snarled when he reached the next headstone and found it lacking. He blasted the top half of it into dust and chunks of rock, startling Harry badly. His heartbeat thumped a staccato beat in his head, in his chest, even in his shaky fingertips, and he was certain that the snake would take notice at any moment and come over from the other side of the circle to trap him.

Harry darted to another headstone and realized suddenly that he needn't worry about the snake; it was currently in process of swallowing Karkaroff's body whole. Sobbing wouldn't be enough at this point, Harry realized, suppressing the urge to gag. He needed to scream and shriek and wail. He felt it bubbling up in his throat, but knew that he had to be utterly silent so that Voldemort wouldn't find him. He wished he hadn't removed the silencing charm.

If he could just get through the Death Eaters and out of the graveyard, Harry was certain he could figure out a way to escape. He forced his attention away from the snake and started searching the ranks of Death Eaters, looking for a weak point, some indication that the person in question would be easier to get by than the others.

Too late, he realized that Voldemort had found his headstone. He ducked barely in time to avoid being hit with a huge chunk of stone. Dust settled over him, giving away his position.

"Ah, there you are," Voldemort said, satisfied. He raised his wand, and Harry stumbled to his feet, casting a Confundus Charm at the same time.

The twin jets of green light met in midair, and rather than deflecting, as was Harry's usual experience with these circumstances, the lights turned gold instead. Harry's wand began vibrating rather suddenly.

The even bigger surprise came when Harry felt his feet lift off the ground. Voldemort looked no less shocked, which Harry found strangely comforting.

As they resettled on a patch of grass and a dome of light formed around them, Harry thought quickly. He had no idea what was going on. Voldemort shrieked at his followers to do nothing, and it occurred to Harry that the advantage was his, especially when the haunting music started and Voldemort's expression only grew more astonished.

Voldemort had said to do nothing. To Harry's view, the only possibility for survival was in active defiance. When Voldemort's wand started spitting out spells and Voldemort was still busy staring at the ghostly remnants of a silver hand, Harry took his chance.

He jerked his wand up, and before the dome of light had vanished, he was gone, knocking over Death Eaters and dodging spells as he fled the graveyard, wand in the air. His ribs felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him at once while he ran, but he could worry about the pain later when he wasn't dead.

The road was a bit of a distance, but Harry had sheer, adrenaline fuelled terror on his side. He also had a head start, which was fortunate for the conductor of the Knight Bus.

"Welcome to the Kni-"

"Just go!" Harry yelled, shoving him back through the doors and forcing them shut behind him. "Go now!"

Thankfully, the driver didn't ask questions, choosing instead to slam his foot down on the accelerator. Harry fell into the aisle between the beds and slid several feet, caught by the unexpected momentum. He lay there, trying not to jostle his ribs and nursing his shoulder where the edge of a blasting hex had caught him as he ran.

The conductor stared at him, then at the door. Harry saw dimly that a hole had been melted in the metal frame. He was glad he hadn't caught the edge of that spell instead.

"Hogwarts," Harry panted. "I need to get to Hogwarts, and I'll give you twenty galleons if you don't stop anywhere else on the way."

The conductor nodded slowly and stepped forward with tentative movements to help Harry onto one of the beds. Harry whimpered and stiffened with basically any movement, but soon he was settled on a mattress. "Will you be wantin' a hot chocolate?"

Harry muttered something in the negative and curled into a small ball at the head of the bed, staring through his reflection in the opposite window and trying not to breathe.

"Are you sure?" The voice was strangely distant. "You're shaking."

Harry curled further into himself, ignoring the conductor entirely.

* * *

_A/N: Some info/dialogue for this chapter was taken from Goblet of Fire. _


	47. The Aftermath

When the Knight Bus finally stopped at Hogsmeade, Harry bolstered himself and shook his head. "Hogwarts," he insisted.

"We can't go on the grounds, mate," the conductor explained.

"Get as close as possible," he said. The driver shrugged and maneuvered until the Bus was about two feet away from the front gates.

"That's as good as it gets," the conductor said. Harry reached into his pocket with the bleeding arm and fumbled for his money bag. He gave the whole thing to the conductor, then stumbled off the bus and through the gates as though the grass outside Hogwarts was on fire.

It struck him as extraordinary that everyone was still at the Quidditch pitch, watching the final Task. Harry had no idea how long he'd been gone, but it had to have been a few hours at least.

While he was on the bus everything had been dim, but now that he was back at Hogwarts, his senses were almost painfully alert. He needed to find someone that would be able to help him. Someone who would make everything that had just happened go away. He neared the stands and swayed, trying to remember where his friends had been sitting, where Snape or Dumbledore might be, if his snake had found anyone or managed to raise the alarm. He felt something wet running down his cheek and touched it. His fingers came back red, and he stared at them. He had honestly thought that would be salt water.

"Harry? Oh fuck- Harry!"

Harry recognised the voice and looked up as the person grabbed his arm to steady him. It was Draco, eyes wide with alarm and concern.

Harry staggered back, wrenching his arm away in his haste to escape. He landed in the grass, jostling his various wounds, his heart pounding almost as hard as it had in the graveyard. Draco reached for him, but something about the expression on Harry's face must have made him think better of it. He backed off a few feet and hovered, looking between Harry and the stands and practically wringing his hands.

Fortunately, Draco hadn't been the only person to spot Harry's arrival.

"Draco, what - Oh fuck." Blaise dropped to his knees in front of Harry, eyes darting over his bleeding arm and shoulder and back up to his face. "Pansy, go get Snape."

"Blaise," Harry said in a small voice. "He's back, Blaise."

Blaise reached out and touched Harry's undamaged shoulder carefully. "Who's back, Harry?"

"Voldemort."

Blaise snatched his hand back and stared at Harry, horrified. Behind him, Draco made a wordless sound and sat abruptly in the grass.

"Harry, what?"

"He's back," Harry repeated. Blaise needed to understand. "Voldemort's back, he's back, he's alive, I saw him, he killed Karkaroff-"

Someone made an inarticulate sound of horror. Pansy had returned with Snape and Dumbledore. Snape knelt next to Harry and peered into his eyes.

"Harry," he said calmly. "Where are you hurt?"

"My head hurts... it hurts a lot," Harry explained in a tiny voice. "It was Voldemort, he did it."

"Yes, Harry," Snape said. "But where else are you hurt?"

Harry blinked at him. "_I hurt everywhere,_" he said, slipping unconsciously into Parseltongue. "_And my shoulder and my arm and my chest and my... my head. It hurts everywhere._"

Snape nodded and stood, lifting Harry carefully and setting him on his feet. A small crowd of curious onlookers had formed by now, and news was starting to spread about what Harry was saying. People were muttering to each other, staring at him.

"Severus, take him to the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore ordered. "I will be there shortly. Do not let Pomfrey feed him any sleeping potions."

* * *

Dumbledore arrived in Harry's private room about an hour later with Sirius and Remus at his heels, their faces pale and strained.

Snape sneered at them from the corner he was leaning in, but stayed silent as they swooped down on Harry.

Harry had been cleaned up and healed as best as Pomfrey could manage. His shoulder and chest were still in bandages and there would be a deep scar on his arm, but all of his other physical wounds had been easily fixed.

Sirius took one look at Harry and pulled him into a tight hug, though mindful of his injuries. Harry pressed against Sirius' shoulder and let his face collapse into the misery he'd been suppressing. Just for a moment, but Sirius held onto him long enough for Harry to regain his composure before pulling away.

"What happened?" he asked, subsiding into one of the chairs by Harry's bedside. Remus took the other, looking equally concerned.

"Voldemort's back," Harry said, feeling almost blank. Dumbledore stepped forward.

"I am sorry, Harry," he said. "But I need to know everything, from the beginning."

Harry looked down at his lap, then back up at Sirius who was watching him with sympathy.

"Maybe we should wait until morning, Dumbledore," he said uncertainly. He reached out and gripped Harry's hand, and Harry gripped back, grateful.

"We must act quickly," Dumbledore disagreed. "We need to know the details of what we are facing." He turned to Harry and spoke gently. "Numbing the pain will only make it worse when you have to feel it, Harry. Tonight, you have managed to survive a situation that has defeated fully trained wizards. I must ask that you struggle through one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

Harry took a deep breath, shaking a bit. Even the calming potions Pomfrey had already forced on him weren't helping right now. Snape took a step forward and spoke.

"Your Occlumency walls are still intact, Mr. Potter," he said. "You have done admirably under the greatest duress imaginable."

Harry smiled a bit at that. With Sirius' hand still in his grip, he took a deep breath and began to explain. "Poliakoff was polyjuiced," he began. "All year, he's been Professor Quirrell in disguise."

Snape made an aborted motion with one hand. Dumbledore leaned forward. "You are positive?" he asked, his blue eyes intense.

Harry nodded. "And Professor Moody isn't himself, either. He's been someone named 'Crouch', polyjuiced as Moody all year. They've been gathering information." Sirius' grip on his hand tightened. "I had a headache so I left the stands, and Quirrell Imperiused me and dragged me off campus and apparated us to this graveyard..."

He told the story through, though he faltered several times, in particular at the conversation about Draco and when describing the way Karkaroff had been murdered. His voice shook as he described his 'duel' with Voldemort and the strange way their wands had connected, which caused Dumbledore to explain the Reverse Spell effect.

After that, it was a matter of Harry explaining briefly about the Knight Bus and his walk up to the pitch, and then Dumbledore spoke some warm words about Harry's resilience and abilities, and recommended a Sleeping Draught. Snape swept out during Dumbledore's reassurances without a word to anyone.

Pomfrey bustled in and fed him a few more potions, and Sirius and Remus stepped out into the main hospital wing to have a word with Dumbledore. A crowd of Harry's friends replaced Pomfrey when she left.

"Madam Pomfrey said only a few of us could come in right now," Hermione explained as she and Dudley and Blaise and Pansy crowded around his bed. "Or else everyone else would be here too."

"You were right about Poliakoff, Pansy," Harry said. "He was a Death Eater."

Pansy put a hand to her mouth, alarmed. "What?"

"Yeah," Harry said. One of the potions Pomfrey had fed him was making him feel spacey and sleepy. "He was Professor Quirrell. And Professor Moody was Crouch. And there was a house elf and a baby but the baby was Voldemort. And then they put him in a potion and all the Death Eaters came and one of them was Draco's dad and he laughed at me when Voldemort crucioed me and he helped kill the Headmaster of Durmstrang and then our wands reversed and I got away on the Knight Bus."

His friends fell silent, all of them staring at Harry with varying levels of horror and confusion.

"I didn't follow any of that," Dudley said eventually. "But it sounded awful."

"Draco's father was there?" Blaise looked faintly sick.

"He and Quirrell said Draco only wanted to be friends with me so I would join the Dark Lord," Harry said dreamily. The idea didn't hurt right now; it was too distant.

"Oh, Harry, that's not true," Pansy said, taking his hand, but Harry barely heard her. He was floating away into sleep.

* * *

Harry left the hospital wing the evening after next, slowing down as he walked through the main wing to examine the sleeping figures of the real Poliakoff and Mad-Eye Moody. They both looked weak and exhausted, their hair cut in strange patches.

Sirius was waiting for him just outside the doors, and slung an arm around his shoulder as they walked together.

"Remus had to go already; job for Dumbledore," Sirius said. "We're getting the old crowd back together. I wanted to say goodbye before I left though."

Harry nodded and leaned into Sirius' side as they walked.

"Dumbledore left those wards up," he continued as they descended a set of stairs toward Slytherin. "Otherwise Snuffles'd come visit you at Hogwarts all the time next term."

"Snuffles?"

Sirius grinned. "My animagus form. Can't pass through the gates without Dumbledore's permission because of it."

They had reached the Entrance Hall, and Sirius stopped, turning to face Harry.

"I also wanted to get this back to you," he said, producing a well-battered piece of parchment. Harry, who had been walking on autopilot until Sirius stopped, blinked at it for a second before recognition dawned.

"The Map!" he said. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in the fake-Moody's things," Sirius said. "I recognised it and thought you might want it back sooner rather than later."

Harry smiled at Sirius gratefully and tucked the Map into one of his inner pockets. He'd have to be much more careful with it from now on.

* * *

Apparently Draco had tried to visit Harry while he was still in the hospital wing. According to Pomfrey, Harry had refused. Harry honestly didn't remember, but then most of his stay was a blur.

Draco was not to be deterred, it seemed. He caught Harry alone in their dormitory the next morning and hovered as Harry got dressed for breakfast.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Draco said, standing next to his own bed and staring at him. "For everything. Are you okay?"

Harry pulled his shoes on and tied them.

"Harry-"

"Your father was there, Draco," Harry said as he straightened up. "He laughed at me when Voldemort cast the Cruciatius curse on me. He helped kill the headmaster of Durmstrang for being a traitor."

Draco's face went ashen. "I'm not my father," he started, but Harry interrupted him.

"Yes, but you forget that _I've_been at Hogwarts all year, too." He picked up his bag. "At this point, you're close enough. Too close."

* * *

Dumbledore had made an announcement at breakfast the morning after the Task, and the looks Harry was getting were conflicted. It seemed like no one really wanted to believe him. A meeting with Dumbledore the next day confirmed it.

"Minster Fudge is refusing to cooperate," Dumbledore said. "He doesn't think that the disappearance of the Headmaster of Durmstrang and your word are enough."

Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore raised a hand. "I do," he said. "And I already have plans in motion. Which is what this meeting is about, Harry. It is vital that you go back to Privet Drive this summer."

"No, but..." Harry said, feeling something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. "Sirius and Remus said I could stay at their house."

"I have had to call on them along with many others," Dumbledore said. "Neither of them will spend much time in Devon this summer. More to the point, you will be better protected at your uncle's house, especially after we update the wards. We will be doing so within the next week."

Dumbledore explained in detail about the blood protection from his mother, and how Dudley was a conduit for that.

"The wards were originally set to your aunt," Dumbledore explained. "But we will transfer them to Dudley instead. Your uncle and cousin have already agreed. You will need to spend at least a few weeks there every summer to keep the wards strong."

Harry nodded in resignation. If he definitely wasn't able to spend the summer with Sirius and Remus, it wouldn't be too awful being back at Privet Drive, especially if he was still free to visit his friends for most of the summer.

* * *

Harry and Blaise were leaving lunch later that day when Anthony found them. His face was solemn, and Harry frowned at him. Anthony had already come to visit Harry in the hospital wing to make sure he was okay. He wasn't sure what that dismal expression meant.

"Harry," he began tentatively, "Douglas and I have been searching for the past couple days, since you mentioned she went missing..." Harry's eyes darted down to the box Anthony was holding, and he paled.

"We found her near the stands," Anthony explained, holding the box out. "She was... I'm sorry."

When Harry just stared, Blaise reached out and took the box, sliding the lid open a fraction to look inside.

"Oh shit," he muttered, closing it again. "Harry-"

"I'm going back to the dorm," Harry said in a choked voice. "Thanks for... for finding her, Anthony. I'll see you tomorrow."

The blankness of the last couple days cracked, but Harry kept himself in check until he was able to close the hangings around his bed and huddle under his blankets in quiet misery.

* * *

"Hello, Harry."

Harry blinked through tired eyes at the familiar female voice, trying to place it. Pansy had already tried to get Harry to respond several times over the past couple days, but Harry's spells were strong enough that he wouldn't be moved without his consent. It wasn't her. It wasn't Hermione, either. They wouldn't let a Gryffindor in, anyway.

"Hi, Luna," he said eventually.

"Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Not really." He poked his head out from his blanket cucoon and stared at the bedcurtains, wondering what her strategy was. If he had his way, he wouldn't leave until it was time to get on the train. She was silent for a bit, then:

"After my mum died, I wasn't hungry either," she said. "We were working on a potions experiment and it exploded. She saved my life."

"It - exploded?" Harry asked, startled. Luna made a small noise of agreement.

"Yes. I was nine."

"Luna," Harry said, pulling his blankets more firmly around himself. "That's awful."

"It was," she said. They fell into silence for several minutes.

"Can I come in?" she asked after a while.

"Wh-what?"

"I was going to give you a hug," she explained. "I thought it would make me feel better about what happened to you."

Harry swallowed and stared at the bedcurtains. Luna waited.

"Yeah, okay," he said, and rubbed halfheartedly at the tearstains on his cheeks. He pulled his wand out from under the pillow and lifted the spells for long enough for her to climb inside.

Luna sat on her knees next to him and pulled him into a long hug, blankets and all. After she pulled away, Harry realized he actually felt somewhat better. She smiled a little bit and settled down next to him, leaning against his headboard.

"I brought you something to read," she said, pulling a copy of the Quibbler out of her bag. "And some food, if you do feel hungry later."

It turned out that she had brought nearly an entire year's worth of Quibbler back issues and a stack of sandwiches. Harry took a magazine and they read quietly together. Eventually, he even took a sandwich.

After a few hours, Blaise came into the room.

"Harry? Did Luna come talk to you?"

"I promised I would," Luna said absently, turning a page.

There was silence from the other side of the bed curtain.

"Luna." Blaise's voice was absolutely exasperated. "You were supposed to get him to come out."

"He didn't want to," she said. Harry grinned a little bit and flipped to the rebuses at the back of his most recent Quibbler. He was getting better at them.

* * *

Harry ended up leaving his dormitory late the next day, though he kept to himself and his friends as strictly as he could manage. Everyone else was happy to avoid him, anyway.

Dumbledore made a speech at the end of year feast, about how dark times were ahead and how they all had to stand together. Most of the students and even some of the staff stared at Harry for nearly the entire thing. He didn't feel like any of them particularly wanted to stand with him. Harry didn't even want to stand with himself.

He let his eyes fall on the empty seat at the head table where Snape usually sat. He hadn't seen the professor since the night of the third Task.

Dumbledore caught Harry's eye as he finished his speech. His expression was grave, but calculating. Ever since the night of the third Task, Harry's chest and shoulder had felt constricted and heavy, though they were healing nicely and his ribs were essentially good as new. Now with Dumbledore's gaze boring into him, Harry felt almost like he couldn't breathe, the pressure was so great. His Slytherin tie felt like a noose.

He had never thought of Privet Drive as a reprieve before, but he almost couldn't wait to get back.


	48. The Doorbell

When Harry and Dudley got off the train at King's Cross, Uncle Vernon was waiting for them. He helped them put their trunks in the boot and pulled out of the car park in relative silence, listening to Dudley's chatter about the year. Harry was free to subside quietly into the backseat and let the sound of Dudley's voice wash over him.

By the time they reached the motorway, though, Dudley had run out of stories that had nothing to do with what had happened to Harry and trailed off, uncertain.

"I have a question," Vernon said, glancing at Harry in the rearview. "What's all this I've been reading about you in the paper?"

Harry blinked. "You read the Daily Prophet?" he asked, baffled and suddenly embarrassed.

"They send it through the post," Uncle Vernon explained. "Wrapped in parcel paper. Stop avoiding the question. What have you been up to this year, boy? The paper said-"

"Oh, that wasn't Harry's fault," Dudley interrupted. "That awful woman was making things up to make him look bad because she was mad he wouldn't talk to her."

Vernon looked at Harry in the rearview again. Harry nodded.

"The media these days," Vernon grumbled. "This country is going to the dogs. Those reporters think they can just write whatever they want about anyone! That's called libel! That woman deserves a big fat lawsuit, in my opinion..."

Harry and Dudley nodded along in all the right places as Uncle Vernon settled into a comfortable rant that lasted them the rest of the drive home. As they dragged their trunks up the stairs to their respective rooms, Harry caught Dudley's eye.

"Did you know he'd been getting the Prophet?" he asked.

Dudley shrugged. "He's been getting it delivered since summer of last year. Dad likes to keep up on the news, and it gives us stuff to talk about in our letters. He was pretty interested in the Tournament."

"Right," Harry said, shifting his owl's cage so that he could get his door open. "Right."

* * *

Uncle Vernon did indeed read both the muggle and wizarding newspapers over breakfast every morning. Harry only began to regret this a couple days into the holiday, when Uncle Vernon started choking on his bacon halfway through the meal. He had just picked up the Prophet.

Harry looked up with a sense of dread. Dudley had already leaned over to glance at the paper, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed when Dudley went pale.

"Dad," he said, and took the paper from a still coughing Vernon, and slapped his father on the back a couple times for good measure. Then Dudley peered down at the text, his eyes moving back and forth across the words, his frown deepening with every pass.

Harry shoved his seat back and stood. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Don't tell me," he said. "I don't want to know."

"You really don't," Dudley agreed. Uncle Vernon took the paper back and began reading, his face slowly going purple. That was an even worse sign. Harry had just turned around to leave the kitchen when they heard a loud squawk and then a lot of shouting coming from upstairs.

"Who-" Vernon stood, dropping the paper onto the table and glaring up at the ceiling.

Harry swore and ran up to his bedroom, making a brief detour to the bathroom. He'd left the window open. Sure enough, there was a pile of letters forming, and two of them had burst into flames already, screaming invective at his owl who huddled in his cage and screeched back at intervals.

_"-Slytherin scum! How dare you try to upset what we've worked so hard for? You have no right-"_

_"-attention seeking! I remember your record with the Dark Arts, too, don't think I've forgotten that-"_

_"-upstanding wizards and witches in our community! You disgust me-"_

_"-not worth the dirt in the soles of Dumbledore's boots! Disgraceful, childish-"_

Harry poured a cup of water over the first Howler, which quieted the shouts to more of an angry gurgle, then ran back to the bathroom for more water.

_"-parselmouths deserve to be Kissed, if you ask-"_

The second Howler fell to the floor in a sopping mess as well, and Harry let the cup slip from his grasp and fall to ground, staring around his room. There were a lot of letters. He always got letters when Skeeter wrote about him, but usually Blaise and Pansy helped him sort through the worst of them, and usually there weren't so many. Usually he could just ignore them all. A bit of smoke floating up from a pile at the end of his bed sent him back to the bathroom. There would be no ignoring these.

* * *

"Well here's another one that believes you," Dudley said with optimism, several hours later. He and Harry had rooted out all the Howlers, and were now sitting on the floor in his room, trying to make some sense of the pile. He would have just chucked the entire lot in the bin, but there had been a furiously sympathetic (but mostly furious) letter from Pansy in the first pile. There might be more from people he actually wanted to communicate with. Dudley did insist on opening them all, though.

"Well," Dudley paused and continued skimming the letter. "They believe Dumbledore, anyway."

"Put it in the pile," Harry said, and rubbed his eyes. That was twenty six from people who believed Dumbledore but still thought Harry was untrustworthy Slytherin scum. There had been three that actually supported Harry so far, and one of those was from Pansy.

Dudley ripped open a new letter. "This one is... a Slytherin."

Harry groaned. Those were often the worst.

"And she says...well." Dudley dropped it in the steadily growing 'Slytherins who hate Harry' pile. It was separate from the other pile of letters from people who hated Harry, mostly because of the particular brand of invective they usually contained, and because Harry thought it might be useful to keep track of his enemies within the House. It seemed like something Pansy and Blaise would have him do.

"This one supports you! And they want you to come visit!" Dudley frowned at it. "That's kind of... oh, it's from Neville. He says I'm invited too!"

Harry reached a hand out for the letter, which Dudley handed over dutifully. Harry skimmed it and smiled a bit. It was nice seeing words directed at him that weren't hateful, after all the sorting they'd been doing that morning.

"He wants us to visit next week," Harry said, let down. "Dumbledore said we can't leave until after my birthday, because of the wards."

A few wizards had dropped by a couple nights ago, Remus and Dumbledore included, and updated the wards to work with Dudley's contribution instead of Aunt Petunia's. It had been interesting to watch them work, but the upshot of it all was that the wards wouldn't be stable enough for either of them to leave the house for anything longer than a shopping trip until at least the end of the month.

Harry reached up to set Neville's letter on the desk and picked up another. This one was thick, and written on particularly fine parchment. He flipped it over to break the seal and froze. The Malfoy crest gleamed up at him from the wax, and Harry stared at it for a long moment.

"Hey, this one says you... never mind."

Harry reached under his desk for the bin and chucked the letter in, seal unbroken. If Dudley noticed, he said nothing.

The next letter writer wanted to make sure that Harry was one hundred percent clear on exactly how supportive they were of Harry drowning himself in a vat of bobotuber pus.

* * *

From what Harry could gather from the letters he received (having not read this most recent Skeeter article), she had basically recounted the events following Harry's return on the Knight Bus, including Harry's claim that Voldemort had been resurrected. If she expressed any belief that Harry was telling the truth, her readers hadn't picked up on it. Most of them made it sound like she'd painted him as an attention craving, Dark Arts obsessed maniac.

Harry would believe it, coming from her.

So whenever Harry woke abruptly from some unpleasant memory-turned-nightmare and found himself staring around at piles of parchment inscribed with hatred, he would pull out his Map, which he had activated on the train and never turned off, and he would look for her.

She was still at Hogwarts, presumably still stuck. She spent a lot of time on the grounds and in the higher towers. Harry wondered how she was managing to stay hidden during the summer. It wasn't as though she could exactly hide in a crowd when the school wasn't even in use.

It was on one of these late nights, staring at the Map, that it hit him. Sirius had said it himself. He couldn't come or go without Dumbledore's permission because of Snuffles. And Rita couldn't come and go at all. Harry somehow doubted she was about to ask Dumbledore's permission. She had to be keeping it a secret.

Harry remembered the whole situation with Sirius and Pettigrew and his father having unregistered animagus forms, and how angry Snape had been. He was sure someone had said it was illegal, not registering.

Harry pulled his blankets off and stumbled over to his desk, switching on the small lamp. Loki was gone for the night, hunting, but he would be back soon. Harry pulled a fresh sheet of parchment out of a drawer and uncorked a bottle of ink. He spent a minute searching for a quill and eventually gave up, turning instead to his trunk.

He found the scrap of parchment in one of his old Charms textbooks, and crept downstairs to the kitchen. It was late, but this was urgent. He picked up the receiver and dialled carefully. The phone rang for a long time before a woman finally answered.

"Hello?" she asked. Half a second later, another, equally sleepy voice chimed in.

"Hello?"

"Hermione?" Harry asked. The first voice responded.

"Hermione, dear, it's for you."

"Thanks, mum."

There was a click on Hermione's end.

"Harry, why are you calling me at two thirty in the morning?"

"I'm sorry," he responded in a whisper. "I have to ask you a question. It's important."

There was a pause. "Well?" she prompted.

"I wanted to know if you knew how to check the animagus registry," Harry said, glancing at the doorway to the kitchen. It didn't sound like anyone was awake upstairs, and he didn't want to change that. Uncle Vernon wouldn't take kindly to late night calls, however vital.

"I- yes. Er, Harry," Hermione began. "Don't get me wrong. If you need to talk, call me, any time. But couldn't this have waited until morning?"

"No," Harry hissed. "I was thinking. Skeeter is stuck on the grounds, right? Sirius said Dumbledore put up wards last year for Pettigrew, and now Sirius can't cross the wards without Dumbledore's permission! Because of his animagus form!"

"You think Skeeter is an animagus?" Hermione's voice was intrigued now. "Oh, that would make so much sense! I don't remember seeing her name on the list; I'll check again and get back to you! That's highly illegal!"

Harry grinned. "It's perfect, is what it is. If we're right, she won't be writing anything about me for a long time."

"Do you mean to turn her in, or blackmail her?"

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said, walking as far as the cord of the phone would let him and leaning against the table. "Probably blackmail."

"I'll get back to you as soon as I can," Hermione promised. "Harry, I hope you're right."

"Me too," Harry said. They talked a few minutes longer, but eventually Hermione claimed exhaustion and they said goodbye.

Harry went back to bed and managed to get to sleep with minimal fuss. When he woke up, the sun was shining in his window. He'd managed to sleep through the rest of the night.

* * *

There were more articles about Harry over the course of the next week, not all of them written by Skeeter. Skeeter's were the ones that really caused an influx of mail, though.

Uncle Vernon read through each article, which upset Harry terribly. For some reason, having his friends read lies about him was one thing, but having Uncle Vernon see what elaborate new story Skeeter could spin about his insanity, his sociopathic tendencies, or his insatiable desire to corrupt the innocent was mortifying. Uncle Vernon's opinion of him was a question at best, and Harry could only imagine what he must be thinking of it all.

So when Uncle Vernon called Harry into the kitchen one night after dinner and Harry saw all the newspaper spread out over the table, he felt like sinking through the floor.

"Dudley said this woman was making up lies about you," Uncle Vernon said, his moustache twitching as he sifted through the papers. "But I'll tell you what, boy. She seems to know an awful lot about you for someone who's making everything up. I want the truth."

Harry sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. "She-"

"Dark magic?" Uncle Vernon said, pushing one of the articles toward Harry. "Dudley told me what that means, and I won't tolerate that kind of freakishness in my house."

Harry looked up at him. "I don't do dark magic," he exclaimed. "She's making that up."

"This snake language," Uncle Vernon said, shoving another article at Harry. "The papers say it's dark magic. Dudley said himself that you talk to snakes."

"I, but no," Harry said, feeling cornered. "It's not dark magic, it's just a language-"

Uncle Vernon sifted through the pile and ripped another article out from under the others. His face was beginning to turn red, which was always a bad sign.

"And this one says you were covered in blood and saying someone returned from the dead," he blustered. "That sounds like necromancy if I ever heard it, boy! I won't have it!"

Harry felt his breath start coming in short. "But I didn't- That wasn't my- They tried to-"

"And the papers, not just that woman, mind you, but all the writers, have been saying your House, what's it called, Slythern? That it's the House where dark wizards are trained!" Uncle Vernon stood up and shoved another article at Harry. "Is that what my money is paying for?"

Harry shook his head as he stared down at the article, wondering frantically where Dudley had gotten off to.

"That's not true," he said, feeling tears prick at his eyes. "Slytherin is just another House. People just don't like us because the Dark Lord was in Slytherin. That's not my fault!"

Uncle Vernon stared at him with a narrow expression.

"Dudley's a good boy. And he insists you're not doing any of those things," he said. "I want to believe him." He leaned forward over the table and met Harry's eyes directly. "But if I get one _whiff_ of trouble coming from you, or if I find out you've been teaching my boy anything... dark... you'll be out of this house so fast it'll make your head spin. Do you understand me?"

Harry swallowed hard and nodded, still gripping the article.

"Yes," he said. "But I promise I'm not, Uncle Vernon." He stared down at all the newsprint and felt his shoulders slump. The articles nearly covered the table entirely, there were so many. Seeing it all laid out like this was daunting and disheartening.

Uncle Vernon watched him stare at the newspapers for another moment, then nodded his head briskly.

"Good," he said. "As long as we understand each other."

He gathered up all the articles, including the one Harry was holding, and tossed them all in the bin. Harry watched uncertainly as Uncle Vernon took the whole bin outside to empty it, then came back, replaced the liner, and left the kitchen with no further comment.

Harry sat at the kitchen table until it was time to go to bed.

* * *

It turned out that Harry had been right. Skeeter wasn't on the list of registered animagi, and after conferring with Pansy, Blaise and Hermione through various modes of communication, they all agreed that it was the most likely explanation. The only question at this point was how to exploit their new found knowledge.

"Harry," Dudley picked up the extension one morning when Harry was on the phone with Hermione, debating the merits of sending an owl to Skeeter versus tracking her down when they returned to Hogwarts. "Hey Hermione," Dudley said.

"Hi, Dudley," Hermione responded. "How have you been?"

"Alright," Dudley said. "Harry, Dad's getting ready for work and he said to get the door."

Harry raised his eyebrow at the telephone. He had heard the doorbell, but assumed Uncle Vernon or Dudley would get it like they usually did.

"He told you to do it, didn't he?"

"Well yeah," Dudley said. "But I'm upstairs. You're in the front room. Closer to the door."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Be right back, Hermione," he said.

"No problem," Dudley said. "I'll keep her company."

Harry heard Hermione laugh as he set the receiver down on the end table and went into the hallway.

Harry opened the door, expecting the postman or some kind of solicitor, or perhaps a neighbour. He was wrong on all counts.

Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, holding a small suitcase and looking huddled and pinched.

"I..." Harry stared at her. "I, er...Aunt Petunia."

"Hello, Harry," she said. She sounded strained and terribly awkward. "Has Vernon left for work yet?"

Harry blinked a few times before responding. "I think... let me check." Harry closed the door and stared at it, letting his face go slack with shock now that she couldn't see him. He went into the front room first and picked up the phone, interrupting the conversation Dudley and Hermione were having about Hogsmeade.

"Hermione, we're going to have to call you back," he said. "Dudley, get Uncle Vernon."


	49. The Aunt

"Harry, what's going on?" Dudley followed Harry down the hall to the bathroom, frowning. "Who was at the door?"

Harry glanced at him, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. "Uncle Vernon!"

Uncle Vernon stepped out of the bathroom, tie still slung over his shoulder. He was holding a comb, which he stuck in his back pocket when he saw Harry and Dudley.

"You need to come downstairs. Someone's at the door for you."

Something must have shown on Harry's face, because instead of blustering, Uncle Vernon just nodded and followed them.

"It's," Harry paused, but he couldn't let Dudley and Uncle Vernon open the door blind. "Well, it's Aunt Petunia. At the door."

Uncle Vernon paused on the staircase for half a second. "Petunia?" he repeated. Dudley's eyes went wide, and he practically picked Harry up in his haste to get past him as he barrelled down the stairs.

"Dad, it's mum!" Dudley said as he reached the door. The call snapped Uncle Vernon out of his uncertainty, and he pounded down the stairs after Dudley. Harry took a moment to be glad he didn't live in the cupboard anymore. It would have taken hours for the dust to settle after all this stomping. Harry proceeded down the steps at a much more hesitant pace.

Dudley pulled the door open before Uncle Vernon could stop him, and his face lit up when he saw his mother.

"Mum, you came back!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Did you get my letters? Why didn't you ever respond? I missed you!"

Aunt Petunia, who had taken a small step back when the door opened, smiled a shaky sort of smile at Dudley and looked past him.

"Diddykins," she said, though she was looking at Uncle Vernon. "Mummy and Daddy need to talk, sweetums."

Dudley continued to stare at her with cow eyes, though he stepped aside.

"Ah," Uncle Vernon coughed. "I suppose you should come in, Petunia."

* * *

After Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen and shut the door behind them, Dudley glared at Harry, who stepped back without being asked, hands raised, and let Dudley listen at the keyhole. He took the crack at the bottom of the door as usual, and they listened.

"...your son," Uncle Vernon was saying. Harry watched his feet as they paced the linoleum.

"I know," Petunia said. "But I was wrong, Vernon. I was so wrong. I want to make amends. I want my family back."

"What you wrote-" Uncle Vernon began. His voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat several times. "Petunia, what you wrote... the things you said about him!"

"I know, Vernon, and I was wrong!" Aunt Petunia's feet crossed the linoleum, her heels clicking with agitation. She came to a stop in front of Uncle Vernon's wingtips. "I don't feel that way anymore, Vernon. I've changed, I promise."

Harry glanced up at Dudley. He may not have read the letter Aunt Petunia had left, but he had to have some idea of what they were talking about. But Dudley's face was unusually impassive. Harry couldn't figure out what he might be thinking until he glanced down and caught Harry's eye. The raw hope and anxiety Harry saw made him look away, embarrassed.

"It'll be just like it was before," Petunia promised in a soft voice. "I've missed you so much, darling."

Uncle Vernon was silent for an interminable moment. Harry glanced up at Dudley again, who was burning a hole through the wood panelling with his stare.

Finally, Uncle Vernon answered. "I've missed you too, Pet."

Dudley let out a whooping shout and burst through the door, barely giving Harry time to scramble out of the way to avoid being trampled. Harry climbed to his feet and brushed himself off as he stumbled back toward the staircase, watching through the doorway as the three Dursleys had their reunion.

'Just like it was before' sounded great, for everyone but Harry.

* * *

It took Harry several days to get used to coming around a corner and seeing Aunt Petunia, dusting the mantelpiece or baking biscuits. Harry couldn't figure out how to interact with her now. It had been an unspoken assumption made by Uncle Vernon, Dudley and Harry that Harry was in charge of the brunt of the chores over the holiday. Harry didn't exactly look forward to it, but it wasn't surprising. Now, though, Harry would go into the kitchen to mop the floor and find it sparkling already. He'd finally motivate himself to get started on the laundry, only to find it folded and ironed, waiting only to be put away.

It was strange. Even when Aunt Petunia had lived with them, Harry had done the majority of the housework. This wasn't 'just like before'. This was something else entirely. Harry almost felt like she was infringing on his place in the house, which was an absurd notion that he ignored as best he could. He didn't mind at _all _if Aunt Petunia wanted to scrub the molding in the bathtub. More power to her. Harry had more time to do his own thing now, like write letters to his friends, talk with Hermione and Dudley, sort through the nasty letters in his room, do his summer homework, lie on his back and stare at the ceiling after a nightmare...

It was just strange, that's all.

"Harry!"

This was strange, too.

Harry walked into the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Harry- oh, there you are," she said, and smiled at him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like for you to keep an eye on the wash. It should be finished soon, and I want it hung out to dry before it wrinkles."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said.

"I'll be upstairs doing a bit of tidying up before your uncle gets home," she said, straightening the pleats of her housedress. "Call me when the oven timer beeps, would you, dear?"

"Er, yeah, okay," Harry said, and leaned over to peek at the turkey through the oven window. "No problem." She beamed at him and bustled out of the kitchen, humming.

Harry went back into the living room and lugged his school bag into the kitchen. He and Dudley had made a habit of doing their summer homework at the kitchen table while Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia hadn't yet objected. She hadn't objected to anything at all, as a matter of fact.

Harry set up his quill and ink, frowning absently. He didn't like the way the house had felt since Aunt Petunia returned. He especially hated it when, like now, Uncle Vernon was at work and Dudley was off doing something with his old gang. Harry stayed inside when Dudley decided to hang out with Polkiss and that lot. Old habits die hard, and Harry didn't want to test the limits of Dudley's decency.

Point being, it was just Harry and Aunt Petunia in the house, and she was _still _acting sugary sweet and treating Harry like a... like a...

Well.

Harry wasn't sure what he was being treated like. He wasn't being treated like the house servant, or an unwanted guest, at least. It was positively disconcerting. Pulling out his books and parchment, he straightened them out and stared down at his own handwriting, feeling his mouth twist.

What really grated at him was the question of _why_. Why had she come back, out of the blue? Why was she being so kind to Harry? Why was she suddenly okay with Dudley's magic, after she'd said all those awful things in her letter and ignored every attempt at communication from him? Why could Harry practically taste the tension in the house, when he couldn't spot it in anyone else's faces? Was it just Harry? Maybe he'd gotten too used to her being gone. Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe the Dursleys were happy, and Harry just couldn't handle it because of how miserable he'd been, lately.

He straightened his parchment again and nearly tipped the ink all over the table, only saving it at the very last second. Sighing, Harry capped the bottle and rubbed his eyes. The laundry buzzer went off, and Harry got up to take care of it. Once they finished the blackmailing of Skeeter, Harry would feel better. He'd sleep better, at least, without a new pile of nasty letters to sort through every week.

* * *

Uncle Vernon called Harry downstairs one day, just as Harry was finishing a letter to Pansy about Skeeter. The group of them had put together a missive for her explaining the situation, and her response had been immediate and grudging. Now was the time to make demands.

Harry signed the note to Pansy and left it to dry while he went downstairs.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were sitting in the front room, reading together. Uncle Vernon had his paper, and Aunt Petunia had one of her novels.

"Did you need something, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, leaning on the doorframe. Aunt Petunia beamed at him from her armchair.

"Could you check on the biscuits, Harry?" she asked. "If this batch is done, just put the next sheet in."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, trying to ignore how eerie he found it when she directed a smile at him.

"Lawn'll need mowing in the next few days," Uncle Vernon said, flipping to a new page of his paper. "See that it gets taken care of."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. Aunt Petunia stayed out of the yard work, at least.

"And remind Dudders about the dinner tonight, if you see him," Uncle Vernon added. "You should both be dressed and ready by six."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, and went into the kitchen to check on the biscuits. Dudley was there, peering into the oven hopefully.

"Biscuits, Harry?" he asked, bouncing up and down a little. "Are they done yet?"

Harry grinned. "Don't know. These are for dessert, anyway."

"I just had lunch," Dudley shrugged. "Lunch can have dessert."

"Hang on." Harry opened the oven and prodded at the biscuits thoughtfully. "Get me an oven glove."

"Yes!" Dudley found the glove and handed it over. "Mum won't notice if one or two are missing."

"Like you thought I wouldn't notice if you ate one of the raw ones?" One of the rows of uncooked biscuits was indeed missing a pile of batter. Dudley was unrepentant.

"I've missed mum's biscuits," he said cheerfully. "Go on, let's have one."

"Don't touch, they're hot," Harry said, tipping them one by one on to the cooling rack. "They'll fall apart, and I'm not getting blamed for the mess." He used the spatula to lever one into Dudley's waiting hands instead.

"Ah, damn," Dudley tossed the biscuit from palm to palm, blowing on it.

"Oh, Uncle Vernon said we need to be ready by six tonight for the dinner," Harry remembered, watching as Dudley stuffed half the biscuit in his mouth at once and chased it with a glass of milk.

"Sure," Dudley said, panting. "I think I just burned the roof of my mouth."

"Oh, Harry-" Aunt Petunia swept into the kitchen and stopped when she saw Dudley. "Dudley, darling, there you are. Your father wants you to be ready for dinner tonight before six, sweetums."

Dudley gave her a nod and a close-lipped smile, which didn't do much to hide the biscuit crumbs on his chin.

"Harry, how is the roast looking?"

Harry put the second sheet of biscuits in the oven and eyed the roast on the middle rack while he was there. "It's been about an hour. Do you want me to add the-"

"No, no, I'll get it." She took the oven glove from him and bent over to look inside herself. "You two run off and play."

"Okay, come on, Harry," Dudley said, heading for the front room. "We should play wizard chess. I'm getting better!"

Harry almost missed it. If he hadn't glanced up at that exact moment, he would have. But he did, and Aunt Petunia's disgust reflected garishly in the oven's stainless steel backsplash.

"Have fun, dear," she called, and her voice betrayed nothing but good cheer. Harry stared for a moment longer at her reflection, calm again as she straightened the rows of biscuits on the cooling rack.

* * *

Harry spent a lot of time in his bedroom over the next couple days, sorting through the most recent additions to his letter mountain. Things with Skeeter were going well, and he hoped to be rid of the constant influx of mail soon. In the meantime, he had stopped opening anything from anyone he didn't know. Dudley did the majority of the sorting these days, and Harry read only the ones Dudley marked as not being explicitly hateful, or from an actual friend.

Sifting through a pile of his pre-screened letters, Harry found a note from Blaise. He opened it immediately, hoping for more insight into Skeeter's last letter.

_Harry,_ it said. _Pansy and I agree that you've definitely got the advantage right now, and Skeeter knows it. You need to send this out as soon as possible. Your draft is enclosed, along with a few notes..._

Blaise detailed a few more suggestions which Harry nodded over, but the next paragraph made him pause.

_I don't want to get involved with the situation between you and Draco any more than I have to, so I'm only going to say this once. _

Harry scowled, but read on.

_Draco asked me to confirm that you've at least been receiving his letters, even if you won't respond. I assumed you were chucking them in the bin, honestly-_

Harry glanced at the bin under his desk, which contained at least three letters with the Malfoy crest, unopened.

_-but I'm not going to tell Draco that, even if you want me to. He's sorry. He's having screaming fights with his father over you, and he spends most of his time in the floo with Pansy and I. He's miserable. I'm not saying you should forgive him. I'm just asking you to read his bloody letters._

There wasn't much left to Blaise's note, as though he had (correctly) assumed that Harry wouldn't finish it after reading that entreaty. Harry tossed the letter on his bed, where it teetered in a gust from the window and fell on a stack of hateful Slytherin notes. Harry stared at the pile, his face set, and determinedly started rooting through the unopened letters again. He thought he might have one from Sirius. He'd written about the Aunt Petunia situation, and he hoped Sirius would have some insight.

He tossed a bulky envelope into the 'risky' pile in the far corner of the room, and picked up another one. It took him a second to realise what the expensive parchment and elaborate seal meant. Dudley knew better than to put Draco's letters in the 'to read' pile, but he always did it anyway, because he was a prat.

Harry flipped the letter across the room like a frisbee, still feeling unsettled by Blaise's words and too upset to deal with it at the moment. Blaise could make Harry feel guilty for breathing if he wanted to, and Harry didn't want to feel guilty about this. He had every right in the world to not respond to Draco's letters.

Harry rubbed his eyes as the letter sailed through the air on a breeze, straight out the open window. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the spot where the letter had disappeared.

"Well, damn," he muttered. He couldn't leave it outside in the front garden where anyone could find it.

He stood, plucking Blaise's letter out of the wrong pile and dropping it on his desk next to Stormageddon's cage. His owl hooted at him from his perch, and Harry patted him fondly as he passed on the way to the window.

Ducking his head out, he peered around at the grass below for the square of parchment. It had landed in the neighbor's azaleas. Harry groaned. There would be no getting it later. Privet Drive was a notoriously nosy neighborhood, and next door was a prime example. They'd open it in a heartbeat if they found it.

The Dursleys were all in the front room, watching the telly, so Harry ducked out through the kitchen door and went around. The letter was resting precariously on top of the azalea bush, and the least disruptive way to reach it was through the Dursley's hydrangeas. Harry managed to get to the letter with minimal fuss as the neighbors weren't out and about. Harry was good at crawling through bushes.

He sat under the hydrangeas, flipping the letter over and over in his hands, staring absently at the veins on the underside of the leaves in front of him.

What would reading it do, really? Aside from distressing Harry more? He didn't want to think about Draco at all. It inevitably led to thinking about Draco's father, and what he'd said in the graveyard, which was awful enough, but then _that _led to thinking about what had happened in the graveyard, and that led to worse nightmares than usual. The articles in the Prophet and the resultant mail were bad enough. Harry didn't want to think about any of it. Avoiding Draco, who had rejected him months and months ago anyway, was the best way to do that.

On the way back inside, Harry tossed the letter in the bin.

* * *

Harry's birthday started out well. He got a letter from Skeeter, acquiescing to his demands (one year without publishing anything, in return for Harry's silence). There were also letters and presents from Neville, Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Anthony, and even the Weasleys. The letter from the Weasleys seemed to mostly be from Fred and George, who also enclosed a small box of pranks, though Ron was noted as wishing him a happy birthday too. The closing was somewhat ominous: 'See you very very soon!'

Harry received a letter from Sirius and Remus as well, which instantly made Fred and George's letter less alarming. It was an invitation for him (and Dudley, if he was allowed) to come visit in two weeks' time. Sirius owned a house in London, and the group that supported Dumbledore and believed Harry (or believed that Dumbledore believed Harry, to Harry's reckoning) was using it as a headquarters. The Weasleys would undoubtedly be there as well, judging by the twins' letter.

Also enclosed was a package, which, according to Sirius, Remus had not allowed him to withhold in the hopes of further encouraging Harry to visit, because, "Remus has no sense of fun."

Harry penned a note back immediately, thanking Sirius and Remus for the invitation and the Kestrels poster, which was signed by Aidan Kiely, the Seeker. There was another note attached to the poster, promising that next time they went to a game, Harry could come too instead of just getting a souvenir, though he saw absolutely nothing wrong with his present. He grinned over it and decided not to hang it up just yet, as he'd hopefully be on his way to London soon anyway.

"We've been invited to visit, er, the Weasleys," Harry told Dudley over breakfast, stumbling when he remembered Uncle Vernon's feelings about convict godfathers. "In two weeks, actually. They're staying in London."

Dudley made a thoughtful face over his kippers. "Maybe," he said. Harry gaped at him. "No, I mean, you should go for sure if you want," Dudley added. "But I don't know if I will. Mum only just got back." He smiled at her, and she responded without missing a beat. The more Harry thought about it, the more he wasn't sure what he'd seen in the kitchen that day. Maybe it really was all in his head.

"I don't want to keep you from your friends, darling," Aunt Petunia said. "You should go if you want to."

"No," Dudley said decisively. "I'll stay. Have fun, Harry!"

After breakfast, Harry finished and sent off his letter to Sirius. He also penned a few letters to his friends, thanking them for his presents. In fact, the day continued on in an almost idyllic fashion, at least until he went out into the back garden after lunch.


	50. The Trainwreck

It was later on in the garden when things took a turn for the worse.

Harry was sitting on the bench, idly watching the birds as Aunt Petunia selected some flowers for the front room. It was a nice day out, and Harry was enjoying the fact that it really had been a good birthday so far. Dudley had even convinced Aunt Petunia to bake Harry a cake, which was possibly the most surreal thing that had happened since the summer began. It wasn't that Dudley wanted Harry to have cake. Cake was cake to Dudley's eye, and anyway, Dudley had instigated birthday celebrations for Harry since they started at Hogwarts together. What was weird was how easily Aunt Petunia had acquiesced.

Harry still couldn't get used to this new dynamic, but just for today, he decided not to worry about it.

As Harry chewed on these thoughts, an owl came winging over the rooftops with a letter in its beak. It alighted on the stone bench next to Harry and dropped the letter in his lap with a hoot, then shifted, staring around the garden.

Harry frowned at the letter, wondering what it could be. Usually the angry letters came in multitudes, and in response to something in the paper. There had been no particularly incendiary articles about Harry lately, especially not today, and especially not since Harry explained the situation to Skeeter.

There wasn't a sender marked on the parchment, and there was no seal. Harry flipped it over once, frowned at it, and decided to risk it.

_Harry,_ it said. _I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, even if you don't want to hear from me. I'm really sorry, I-_

Harry crumpled the parchment up, good mood ruined. It was obvious from the handwriting who it was from, even if Harry hadn't read a word. He swallowed hard and tossed the parchment in the grass in front of him, slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms. He had hoped he wouldn't have to have to think about all that today. He hadn't even had a nightmare last night. He considered getting up and leaving the parchment there in the grass, but before he could make a decision, his thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

"Oh Lord!" Aunt Petunia had turned away from her gardening and spotted the owl, dropping her flowers. She stepped back into the flower bed and crushed a patch of daisies, but she hardly noticed. Her hand was pressed to her heart and just for a second, her expression was filled with distress and a small measure of the disgust Harry had seen in the kitchen a couple weeks ago. "Get it away, " she said to Harry, waving her scissors at the bird.

Harry stood up and waved the bird away with a hand, staring at Aunt Petunia with narrowed eyes. She was grimacing and picking up her flowers now, trying to arrange them to avoid further bruising.

"What was _that_?" Harry asked, taking a step forward. She smiled up at him, suddenly calm again.

"It caught me by surprise, dear, that's all. Don't leave that paper on the ground when you go inside."

Harry glared down at the letter from Draco, then back up at Aunt Petunia. "You still hate it all, don't you? You still can't stand Dudley because he has magic. I've seen how you look at him when you think no one's watching."

Aunt Petunia's face fell, and she stared down at her flowers silently, jaw tight. Harry felt himself getting angry.

"Why are you even here?" Harry asked, taking another step toward her. "If you can't even deal with an _owl_, if you think Dudley's a _freak_, then why would you come back to-"

"I don't think he's a freak," Aunt Petunia said, and now the distress was back, worse than before. "He's my son. I love him."

Harry scoffed. "You've been treating _me_better than him, since you got here."

"I love him," Aunt Petunia repeated, in a stronger voice. "I do. That's why I came back. I'm worried for him."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why now? Why not when he was sending you all those letters, or in second year when he had that stupid journal, or-"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't returned then!" Aunt Petunia exclaimed in a shrill voice. She clutched her flowers closer, mouth pinched. Harry stared at her.

"How would you know about that?" he asked.

"I know how to listen," she said, grimacing. "And I know the signs. Lily always used to say you had to read between the lines when it came to the wizarding world_._"

Harry rubbed his forehead. The casual mention of his mother was almost as baffling as the rest.

"It isn't safe anymore," she continued, wrapping her arms around herself. "That... that man wrote us a letter when he left you on our doorstep. He said that if I was here, if Lily's blood was here to protect you, then this house would be safe."

"Dudley has our blood too," Harry said, watching her. "In fact, Dumbledore updated the wards. We don't need you here anymore."

Aunt Petunia's shoulders stiffened, and her hands tightened around her upper arms. She wouldn't meet his eye.

"You came back because you were afraid for yourself," Harry accused. He felt sick, suddenly. "You weren't worried about any of us. You weren't worried about Dudley."

"I love my son," Petunia repeated, lifting her chin. "I love my family."

"Sure," Harry said. "But not enough to be anywhere near them unless you knew it was the only way out of danger."

Aunt Petunia fell silent, still shaking her head. Harry turned away in disgust and crossed the garden to the back door.

"Please don't say those things to Vernon or Dudley," she said, before he could even touch the handle. "I don't want you to hurt them with this."

"You just don't want them to boot you out," Harry said, scowling. She looked at him beseechingly, arms still wrapped around her torso, and Harry relented a bit. "Fine, I won't say anything for now. But I think you're awful."

He slammed the door as he went inside, and spent the rest of the day in his room, fuming. When Dudley managed to force him downstairs later that night for cake, he and Aunt Petunia could hardly look at each other.

Harry couldn't wait until it was time to leave for London.

* * *

The tension Harry had noticed before his birthday became positively tangible after that, especially when he and Aunt Petunia were in the same room. At least Harry wasn't the only one who felt it anymore.

Dudley was spending as much time as he could with his mother now that she'd returned. They were always watching the telly or going to the shops together, where she would buy him video games and fashionable new muggle clothing. It was rare that Dudley's old gang managed to drag him away, though Aunt Petunia encouraged him to go play with his friends just like she used to before she left.

She seemed genuine when it was just her and Dudley, and Harry felt himself faltering sometimes. Maybe he was wrong. Or at the very least, maybe he'd been too harsh. She might really be trying to get over her fears.

Harry broke down about a week after his birthday, and decided he needed to get away from Number Four for a couple hours. The embargo on leaving the house for extended periods would still allow him a trip to the park for a while. As he walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, he heard the sounds of Dudley and Aunt Petunia in the dining room, playing Scrabble.

"Crup," Dudley said proudly over the clacking of his tiles. Harry raised his eyebrows and slowed down as he passed the doorway. Aunt Petunia was blinking at the board, her expression conflicted and uncomfortable, as though she knew she'd regret asking. He left them to it, striding past the dining room and out the front door, determined to let Aunt Petunia sink or swim on her own.

He stayed at the park, just enjoying the fresh air and the quiet until the sun touched the top of the trees and until Dudley came looking for him.

"You've been out for a while-" he began, leaning on the back of Harry's bench. Harry sighed and stood up.

"I know. I just wanted some quiet. Let's go."

They set off for Number Four together, watching the windows flash orange as the sun set behind them.

"Mum and I are going to London next week," Dudley said. "I reckon if you can go visit your godfather, I can leave too, right?"

"Makes sense," Harry agreed, rubbing his arms. It was getting chilly out rapidly, with the sun setting. "What are you going to do?"

Dudley launched into a detailed description of his plans, which mostly involved spending a lot of money, from what Harry could tell. It all sounded pretty bland, and Harry couldn't help but wish he was anywhere but Privet Drive, with anyone but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley. He wished his parents were still alive. He wished Draco's family wasn't ready to kill him at the slightest provocation. He wished...

They had just turned the corner at Privet Drive and Cypress Court when they realized the danger.

Harry was kicking a rock in front of him and nodding occasionally at Dudley's monologue, so Dudley spotted it first. Grabbing Harry's arm, he cut himself off mid sentence.

"What's that?"

They sun had set behind the houses already, and the pinks and purples were already draining out of the sky. Harry had to squint through the gathering darkness to see what Dudley was pointing at. It was a hooded figure, and it had just left Magnolia Crescent a couple streets away from them and turned in their direction.

"Dudley." Harry suddenly noticed the seizing cold in his chest and grabbed Dudley's sleeve so that they were gripping each other. He pulled Dudley toward the houses. "We don't want to find out, trust me. Come on."

Dudley followed dutifully, and Harry's mind clattered through ideas as they jogged back to Number Four. The cold, the dark thoughts, the hooded figure. It couldn't be. What would a dementor be doing on Privet Drive?

"Harry!" Dudley, who had been glancing back at the hooded figure as they moved, had caught on, and his voice was hushed with terror. "Harry, it's a dementor!"

Harry pulled out his wand, watching Dudley do the same with shaking hands. "Dudley, run."

Dudley's eye caught on Harry's wand. "You have to run too!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry grabbed Dudley's wrist again and pulled him along at a much faster speed, ignoring the way his breath caught in his chest and the white cloud of exhale as he spat out, "Obviously!"

Together they fled for Number Four, sprinting flat out. As they neared the house, Harry saw Aunt Petunia on the front porch, putting out the milk bottles.

She had already spotted them tearing toward her with their wands out. Her reaction wasn't encouraging. Having straightened up and put a hand to her mouth, she backed through the front door and gripped the wood tightly.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry called, and that seemed to do it for her. She slammed the door on them as they reached the garden gate. Harry yelled her name again and hit the door full on, pounding on it with his fists. Dudley arrived behind him a second later and tried the handle, to no avail.

"Mum, let us in! It's us, please!"

"Aunt Petunia, hurry!"

Harry glanced behind him and saw the dementor flying past Number Two toward them. He turned and hammered on the door again.

"Let us in! Aunt Petunia, let us IN! It's an emergency!"

The door opened to reveal Uncle Vernon, frowning down at them. "What-"

Harry and Dudley shoved past him and slammed the door shut. Dudley locked it and ran over to the window to check that the dementor really _couldn't_get past the wards while Harry made a beeline for the phone.

"Hello?"

"What's going on?" Uncle Vernon demanded. Dudley turned away from the window to explain.

"Hermione!" Harry swallowed and lowered his voice. "Hermione, we need help!"

"Harry? What's happened? Are you alright?"

"No! There's a dementor here. At Privet Drive! What do I do?"

"Dementors, dad!" Dudley cried when Uncle Vernon persisted in his questioning. "They're huge, cloaked, floating monsters that make everything cold and awful and if one catches you, it takes away all your happy memories and then sucks out your soul, and there's one outside right now!"

Uncle Vernon's skeptical bluster in response died quickly when he realized even Aunt Petunia seemed scared.

The silence on the other end of the line wasn't encouraging. Harry glanced out the window and couldn't see the dementor. "Contact the Aurors," she said finally. "The spell for emergencies is _adiumentum_, cast it out a window if you can."

Harry ran to the back of the house and opened the window onto the back garden. "Adiumentum," he cried. Silver sparks flew from his wand and rushed into the sky, disappearing almost instantly. Uncle Vernon shouted something indistinctly from the front hall, but Harry ignored him.

Harry shut the window firmly and went back into the living room to pick up the phone.

"Now what?"

"You're supposed to get a response soon," Hermione said. "Then you can-"

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, what is your emergency?"

Harry dropped the phone and stared around the room for the source of the voice. "H-hello?"

"What is your emergency, sir?"

Harry rallied, still searching the room. "There's a dementor outside our house! In a muggle area!"

"A dementor?" The woman sounded highly skeptical.

"Yes," Harry said, finally spotting a hazy reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. Uncle Vernon had come into the room and was watching the process with an unreadable expression. Aunt Petunia was still in the front hall, not having moved since Harry and Dudley burst into the house.

The woman sighed. "The fine for fraudulent reports is fifty galleons, sir. What is your address?"

"I'm not lying!" Harry responded, annoyed. He gave the woman the address, and her reflection vanished from the mirror after advising him to stay inside.

"What's going on?" Uncle Vernon demanded, once he was certain Harry was finished speaking to the decor. Dudley answered for him.

"There was a dementor outside, Dad!" he repeated. "Harry called our police to send help!"

Harry peered through the netting, and though he couldn't see the dementor anymore, the chill in the air and the faint fog around the house was still alarmingly present. Having followed Harry to the window, Uncle Vernon huffed. "I don't see anything," he said.

"We're not making this up," Harry repeated, and glanced back at Dudley for confirmation just in time to see Aunt Petunia sidle past the door toward the kitchen. Anger boiled up in his chest. "And Aunt Petunia slammed the door in our faces! We could have been Kissed!"

Aunt Petunia froze, and Dudley chimed in. "Mum, why'd you lock us out?"

"I, I didn't realize it was you, darling," she said, grasping the door frame. "It was dark. You were running and pointing something at me and I thought you were burglars."

"Burglars who call you 'mum' and 'Aunt Petunia'?" Harry offered, glaring. She flinched.

"I saw the dementor," she explained, rubbing her arms, an anguished expression on her face. "I panicked!" She turned to Dudley. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Dudley, in an infuriating twist, seemed ready to accept his mother's story. Uncle Vernon looked moments away from sitting her down with a cup of tea. Harry piped up again.

"What did it look like?" Everyone turned to stare at him. "The dementor, I mean," he said, resisting the urge to take a step back. Even Dudley looked irritated at the question.

"It was enormous," she said after a brief pause. "It floated and it was wearing a long cloak. It was terrifying, and I'd rather not think about it any longer."

A knock on the door saved her from just that, as Harry was still skeptical.

He and Dudley pulled out their wands and peered through the glass to investigate. A tall, broad man stood waiting patiently on the step, and tipped Harry a nod and a solemn smile when he noticed him looking.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said by way of introduction, once Harry opened the door. "I was sent by the Auror office to investigate a dementor sighting." He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward slightly. "I was also sent by Dumbledore to find out what happened to your usual guard."

Harry leaned his head to the right to look past Shacklebolt at the street.

"The dementor was gone even before I arrived," Shacklebolt explained. "Although there is no doubt at least one was present here tonight. Alerting the Aurors was the right thing to do."

Harry sighed, leaning against the door frame in his relief.

"What guard?" Dudley asked, also looking better for the news that the dementor had left. "Who was supposed to be here?"

"That would be Mungdungus Fletcher," Shacklebolt said. "Not that it's especially surprising that he's wandered off. He was never our most reliable person."

"So what happens now?" Harry asked, straightening up. "Er, you can come inside if you want."

Shacklebolt stepped through the doorway with another nod, pulling out his wand. "Now I check that your wards are stable and, assuming everything is in order, we come back to bring you to London in a couple days. We'll be investigating the dementor presence in Little Whinging as well, but I should have all I need from this side of things."

Aunt Petunia had disappeared into the kitchen at the knock on the door, and returned now with the tea service. "Thank you for coming," she said, setting the service down in the front room. "If you aren't in too much of a -"

She faltered upon getting a good look at Shacklebolt in the light. "- a... a hurry..."

She had a very strange expression on her face: one part slack surprise, one part budding anger, and two parts disbelief.

Shacklebolt's smile was apologetic. "I'm afraid I am in a hurry, but thank you for the offer," he said, and looked away, raising his wand and going about his work.

Aunt Petunia rallied admirably, her face taking on a polite, almost blank expression. "Of course, how silly of me," she said. "What did you say your name was again, sir? Was it Kenneth?"

Shacklebolt actually seemed uncomfortable. He had his back to her as he moved around the room, checking the wards. "Kingsley, actually, ma'am," he said.

"Oh, of course," Aunt Petunia trilled, putting a hand to her throat and laughing. Harry, Dudley, and Uncle Vernon watched the exchange in silence, and Harry, at least, was fascinated. He'd heard his aunt fake laughter before, but this almost sounded more like she had broken glass in her throat. "My mistake. I suppose I met someone else by that name recently. You must remind me of him."

Shacklebolt was definitely avoiding eye contact, Harry realized suddenly. He was moving around the house, facing the walls the whole time, only acknowledging Aunt Petunia's comments through nods.

"I should check the wards outside," Shacklebolt said, having moved through the entire downstairs, followed the whole time by the Dursleys and Harry. Uncle Vernon, at least, didn't seem to trust a stranger to wave a wand around in his house without supervision, as he'd followed Shacklebolt closely and suspiciously throughout the whole process. Harry didn't know about Dudley, but personally, he just wanted to know what Aunt Petunia was so worked up about. "You should probably all stay in here, just to be safe," Shacklebolt recommended, and quickly closed the back door behind him.

"Petunia," Uncle Vernon said after a moment. "Who was that?"

So it wasn't just Harry who was curious. Good.

Aunt Petunia seemed more stressed than usual, which was saying something lately. "Just the policeman, Vernon, you heard Harry call for help." She gave him a very plastic smile and opened the door. "I just have a question or two for him. You should all stay in here, like he said. I'll be but a moment!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "That wasn't suspicious at all," he said, and received identical glares from Dudley and Uncle Vernon for his trouble.

Uncle Vernon paced the kitchen restlessly, several times making aborted moves toward the doorway before stopping himself. Harry had never seen his uncle so uncertain. A shout from the back garden seemed to clinch it for him, and an expression of relief crossed his face before the more familiar puce of anger descended and he rushed out the door, snapping, "Stay here," over his shoulder as he went.

Harry and Dudley immediately scrambled to find a good vantage point from the windows.

"You lied to me!" Aunt Petunia was saying to Shacklebolt, who wasn't saying anything. In fact, Aunt Petunia's carrying on was attracting neighbourly notice. Harry and Dudley weren't the only ones hanging out a window hoping for an earful. Shacklebolt had been forced to stop checking the wards, even, because of all the muggle attention.

"Petunia," Uncle Vernon said, staring at Shacklebolt with hard, piggy eyes. Harry and Dudley leaned further out the window to get a better view. "Who is this man?"

Shacklebolt stood in front of Harry's aunt and uncle, impatience beginning to push the embarrassment from his face.

"I am the man who is trying to ensure your family's safety," he said briskly, interrupting Aunt Petunia's reply. "If I can be allowed to finish my job with no further distractions, that is. This is a discussion for later."

He managed to shoo them both back inside with an impressively small number of objections, mostly, it seemed, because his words caused Aunt Petunia's ire to deflate completely.

Harry and Dudley exchanged a glance and hurried away from the window before they could be caught.

Once inside, Aunt Petunia was quiet and withdrawn.

"Petunia." Uncle Vernon had not been anywhere near as cowed by the Auror as Petunia. In fact, he sounded more angry than before, since his question had now gone unanswered twice. "Who. Is. That. Man?"

"He's," she swallowed and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "He's the man who made me realize I needed to come home," Petunia admitted, refusing to meet Uncle Vernon's eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Petunia had an interesting last few months away. Maybe there will be a one shot about it one day. Who knows. I should warn you, if you want any resolution on Petunia's story or anything weird that happened in this chapter, you're not getting it any time soon. It'll take a while. Just trust, guys! And create wild conspiracy theories in your heads about what happened between Kingsley and Petunia. That's what everyone in the story is doing.  
_


	51. The Headquarters

The Aunt Petunia fiasco, as Harry privately called it, did not improve in the days before Harry left for London. In fact, from Harry's perspective, things only became increasingly pear shaped.

Aunt Petunia's vague proclamation with regards to Shacklebolt only made her a more sympathetic figure to Dudley, who had gotten it into his head that Shacklebolt had somehow inadvertently saved his family by trying to seduce his mother while disguised as a muggle. His feelings about his mother were solid. His opinion on Shacklebolt, however, tended to vary.

Uncle Vernon, from what Harry could gather through his frequent and shameless eavesdropping sessions, was now far less concerned with why Aunt Petunia had come home, and far more concerned with fixing both his marriage and his reputation in the neighbourhood.

Harry knew that if he said anything now, when everyone was so happy and relieved to be a family again, he'd be perceived as a vindictive liar who was trying to spoil everything. More to the point, he'd become the outsider again.

He tried hard not to bristle when he and Aunt Petunia were in same room, and counted the days until he could leave. On the morning of his departure, he and Dudley said their goodbyes, and Harry spent the morning in his room, making extra sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything.

The letters had died down to the point where Harry was able to see almost all of his bedroom floor, and even those piles were dwindling as they finished sorting. He binned most of them and stuffed the more significant letters into a shoebox, which he had packed in his trunk (which he'd packed into his expandable box, which he'd packed into a satchel) in preparation for his trip to London.

When the doorbell rang, Harry was already waiting in the hallway, ready with his bag and buckets of anticipation. He opened the door and grinned at Remus, who stood unassumingly on the doorstep holding one end of a leash. Harry's grin widened as Sirius whined low in his throat and nudged Harry's knee in greeting.

"I'm leaving, bye!" Harry called, shutting the door behind him and turning to Remus. "We're not driving again, are we?"

Remus smiled. "No, I'm afraid not. It's good to see you, Harry."

"Good to see you too," Harry said, scratching Sirius' ears and taking a deep breath of the summer air. "If we're not driving, how are we getting there?"

"We'll be using muggle transportation," Remus said as they strolled through the neighborhood. "Not exactly secure, but precautions have been taken, and it's unlikely that any of the more... unsavory characters looking for us will know how to navigate the Underground."

"Right," Harry said. "So we're taking a train to London? Because the Underground doesn't run in Surrey."

Remus blinked. "Well, obviously," he said, recovering admirably. "We'll just apparate and go from there."

They had strolled into the park near Privet Drive, and Remus let Sirius off his leash. He barked joyfully and dashed off into the foliage. Harry and Remus kept walking.

"What kind of precautions?" Harry asked as they passed a large bush, ignoring the rustling and swearing coming from its depths. Remus folded up the leash and stuck it in the pocket of his tweed coat.

"Well, if you look closely, you'll notice the many and varied disguises of your guard, for one thing," Sirius said in an undertone, having freed himself from the bush with an impressive amount of nonchalance. He straightened his waistcoat and plucked a leaf from his hair. "For example, my disguise is that of an unassuming business man, out for a walk on his lunch."

"He insisted," Remus said, smiling despite the longsuffering tone in his voice. "He even researched his role."

"It's a good disguise," Harry said, nodding with approval. "Except there's no reason for a businessman to be taking a walk in a child's park in the middle of Little Whinging. The dragonhide boots are also kind of a giveaway."

"The dog was a better disguise," Remus agreed. "At least until we get to London."

"Bugger that," Sirius said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder. "I'm not an animal, Remus. I have a heart, just like you and Harry. When you cut me, I bleed."

"When you cut dogs, they bleed," Harry said. "And no one notices them then, either."

"Shut up, Harry," Sirius said, grinning. "I hate leashes."

* * *

Apparating went as planned, and soon they were riding the tube all over London.

"We can't go straight to our destination," Sirius said. "It's Unplottable, among other things, but we'd rather no one even be aware of the general area."

Harry spotted a blind man at the first station. He wouldn't have looked twice, except for the obvious limp and the chunk of nose missing under his dark glasses.

"Is that Moody?" Harry whispered as they boarded. "The real one, I mean?"

"Good eye, Harry," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't be too obvious about looking."

They played a subtle game of 'spot the wizard' until they had ridden almost every line, and were on their way back to the heart of London. According to Sirius, there were still a couple people Harry had yet to notice.

"The man in the trenchcoat," Harry muttered, swaying toward Sirius with the movement of the train and glancing toward the man in question. "He's wearing pink Wellingtons."

Sirius peered in the direction Harry had indicated, frowning. "Remus?"

Remus looked as well, and Harry realized suddenly that Remus and Sirius were both gripping their wands.

"Not one of ours," Remus confirmed. "Next stop."

They exited the train calmly, and boarded the next arrival. The man hadn't followed them.

"Kingsley saw him," Sirius said as Harry and Remus peered at the map, trying to figure out where their detour was taking them. "He's taking care of it."

"We're still going in the right direction," Remus announced, after Harry found their location. "We'll be there soon."

"Thank Merlin," Sirius said. "We should just duck into a loo and apparate the rest of the way."

"We have to wait for-"

"I know, I know," Sirius grumbled. The train stopped, and a woman tripped through the doors and jostled Remus.

"Wotcher," she said, grinning. Harry had spotted her three lines ago, due to her vivid pink hair and complete inability to deal with the movement of the train without falling over. The hair was dull brown now, but she was otherwise still mostly recognisable. "Kingsley says all clear. We're going direct at the next stop."

"Finally," Sirius said, grabbing the woman's arm to steady her as the train started moving again. "Give him the key, Tonks."

She passed a small roll of parchment to Harry, who opened it and read '_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.'_

* * *

They arrived at Grimmauld Place by midafternoon. It was a dreary looking townhouse on the outside, and the postwoman walked right past without seeming to notice it, her eyes slipping easily from eleven to thirteen.

"It's an old family place," Sirius said as they approached the front door. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I lived here when I was a kid. Hated every second."

Inside, the first thing Harry noticed was the troll leg they were using as an umbrella stand. There was a portrait on the wall, currently spitting invective at nothing in particular, though when she saw Sirius, her volume and focus increased.

"Shut up, you old bat," Sirius shouted over the noise, and used his wand to pull the curtains that framed her closed. "The Order is remodeling," he told Harry as they walked down the narrow, dusty hall toward a door. "It's a work in progress."

Sirius and Remus led Harry through the house, pointing out various rooms and objects of interest.

"That was my grandmother's favourite house elf," Sirius said as they passed the stairs. There was a whole row of stuffed house elf heads lining the staircase, but Sirius was pointing only at the one closest to them, so Harry tried very hard not to look at the rest.

"The House of Black has some very archaic traditions," Remus explained apologetically when Harry turned to him for an explanation. "They're a very old pureblood family."

Harry decided to ask Pansy in his next letter if her family stuffed house elves when they died. It seemed like there was no way he wouldn't get an interesting response. Their tour soon ended in the basement kitchen, where two of the Weasleys were having tea.

"Oh, you must be Harry!" This was obviously Mrs. Weasley. She stood up and beamed at him. "It's so good to finally meet you, we hear so much about you from the boys, you know! Have a seat, I'll get you a cuppa. You boys have a seat, too, you must be tired from your trip."

Harry sat down next to the youngest Weasley, the girl. He knew her name. Ron had told him her name before. It started with a G, he was almost positive. Harry hated when this happened; it was very awkward.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her and hoping to fake his way through. She blushed and smiled back. Remus sat down across from them, looking over their shoulder to where Sirius and Mrs. Weasley had struck up an intense debate that seemed to be about the house itself.

"Hello," she said, and paused briefly. "How has your holiday been?"

"Alright, aside from the dementor attack," Harry said with a shrug. "Yours?"

Her eyes widened and Harry realized she might not have heard about that. Hastily, he added, "We were fine once we got behind the wards, really."

Mrs. Weasley bustled past, setting down a jug of milk and a mug of tea for Harry. "I understand, Sirius, but it is safer here at headquarters - why do you think we're here? Ginny, get the sugar, would you?"

Harry hid his relief and looked up as the kitchen door opened. It was the Headmaster and another man with a long beard.

"Mr. Potter!" the man exclaimed, "I see you've arrived safely. So good to meet you at last, my boy. I don't care what the Prophet says, if Dumbledore trusts you, that's good enough for me!"

"Thank you, Dedalus," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Molly, I'll have a cup if you've made a pot. How was your trip, Mr. Potter?"

"It was alright," Harry said, fiddling with his tea. "The Tube was fun."

"Albus, we have to talk," Sirius said, and all the energy he'd been focusing on his argument with Mrs. Weasley turned toward the Headmaster instead. "I see no reason why Devon-"

"Sirius, we have discussed this many times," Dumbledore said patiently, and the two of them plus Dedalus took a seat at the table, arguing. Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

"Hey, Harry," she said suddenly. "You should see the library here. It's really great."

"Wow, yeah," Harry said, suppressing a smile. "I love libraries. Let's go see that."

They got up and left the kitchen together. Harry grinned at her as the door closed behind them. "Sirius has been trying for weeks to convince Remus and Professor Dumbledore to let me stay in Devon for part of the visit," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Apparently the house with the detatched body parts lying around is safer."

Ginny giggled. "Imagine going downstairs for a glass of milk in the middle of the night and running into one of the heads in the dark," she said. "It's not pleasant."

Harry made a face and resolved to be extra careful.

"Who else is staying here?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Well, all of us, of course," Ginny said. "And Hermione, and there are some Order members coming and going at random. Sometimes Snape is here, too," she offered, though she made a face when she said it.

"Snape?" Harry asked, his full attention caught. "I haven't heard anything about him since... the end of term. Do you think he'll be around soon?"

"He's not here often," she told him. "He only visits- FRED! GEORGE! I TOLD YOU TO STOP IT!"

Harry stumbled back against the wall, startled badly by her sudden outburst. She had made a fist in the air and was yelling into it. Harry looked closer and realized there was a string dangling in her grip; she proceeded to yank on it, hard.

"Ow!"

"Merlin, Gin!"

"How are we supposed to become successful businessmen if you shatter our eardrums?"

"If you don't stop eavesdropping on my conversations, you'll be lucky to graduate from Hogwarts," Ginny said, glaring at the twins who had just materialized at the top of the steps.

"But Ginny, we never talk anymore!"

The twins assumed wounded expressions as Harry and Ginny reached the top of the steps. "We can feel the emptiness in our hearts where your presence once lingered." Fred clutched at his chest and waved his other hand through the air erratically.

"If this, this madness, is the only way to be near our dearest sister-"

George bowed his head. "Then we will do whatever it takes."

Harry glanced at Ginny. She wasn't buying it, and was, in fact, opening her mouth to say so. Fred interrupted.

"Harry! Good to see you again, old chum!"

"We simply must catch up," George informed him, grabbing one of his arms. "We hear you're an evil dark wizard these days?"

Fred grabbed the other. "Would you say that's a profitable line of work?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Not especially."

"Ah, but you aren't experiencing an economic downturn in the House of Potter, are you?"

"No?"

"Lovely!"

* * *

"They've been trying to raise money to fund their line of pranks," Hermione explained half an hour later, having discovered Harry surrounded by Weasleys in a hallway and done the proper thing, which was to whisk him away and give him a chance to sit down. "They tried to talk my father into investing when we met them in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes."

"They're doing a pretty good job, though," Harry said, sitting cross legged on his new bed. "Did you see those ears they made?"

"I see them all the time," Hermione said with a foreboding expression to match her tone. Harry was sharing a room with Ron, and she had propped herself up against the footboard. "And I feed them to Crookshanks when I do. If they didn't want their merchandise ruined, they wouldn't spend all their time spying on people who have half a brain."

"It's beta testing, Hermione!" One of the twins called this to them from outside the door. "If the people with more than half a brain can't spot them, then everyone else won't be able to either!"

Hermione stood up and stared around at the floor, finally finding and stomping on the offending ear, which had been skittering toward the door in a belated bid for escape.

"Ow," the other twin said. The ear was tugged under the crack at the bottom of the door, and Hermione huffed.

"As I was saying," she said, sitting back down on the bed and rolling her eyes. "They're a complete menace."

* * *

Harry didn't end up seeing Snape at Grimmauld Place for several days. They didn't cross paths at all until a particularly upsetting nightmare had Harry carefully navigating in the dark to the kitchen and sitting down with some tea in the middle of the night, when Snape happened to floo in. His arrival startled Harry out of helplessly morbid thoughts about the last sounds Karkaroff had made before he died, and he nearly upset his tea.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, unsurprised.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, eyeing him carefully. He looked fine. All seemed to be in order. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected," Snape said, moving further into the room and removing his cloak. "And you?"

Harry wrapped his hands around his mug and shrugged, turning his thoughts determinedly away from darker things. "Things have been pretty eventful. My aunt came back."

Snape didn't respond immediately, but Harry continued anyway. "Dudley's thrilled, but she's only back because she's scared. I'm almost positive."

"Have you been practicing your Occlumency?" Snape asked. Harry glanced up at him, then back down at his tea.

"Yeah," he said. "And it does help. I don't have nearly as many nightmares when I practice before bed." He paused, looking at nothing in particular. "I just don't know what to say to Dudley, or if I should say anything at all."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry ducked his head and sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "I probably shouldn't do anything unless I know it won't make things worse. I don't like it, though."

"That is rarely relevant in these matters," Snape said. "I have business to attend to, but we will speak soon about your progress."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Snape had given him a thick book on Legilimency before the end of term and his disappearance, and Harry was glad to know he'd been right to assume that he should have been reading it during break. He hated doing unnecessary schoolwork.

"See that you get some sleep, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"What do the burn marks mean?"

Harry and Sirius were in the drawing room, taking advantage of a bit of free time to hide from Molly Weasley, who had taken charge of sprucing up Grimmauld Place and didn't take no for an answer. Harry ran his fingers down the lineages of the Black family tree, pausing at familiar surnames. There were a lot of them. Even Neville was related to the Blacks.

"Family members who brought shame on the House of Black by being decent human beings," Sirius said. He pointed to one of the scorch marks in the most recent generation. "That's mine."

Harry paused, debating whether he should ask, but Sirius was already continuing.

"Being sorted into Gryffindor was bad enough," Sirius said, not without pride. "But the last straw was when I ran away and moved in with your father and his family," he said. "Dorea and Charlus would have been disowned too, if my mother had known I went to them." Harry let his hand trail over the tree to where his grandparents were indicated. The tree didn't go into detail when the family member took another name, but it wasn't hard to guess who 'one son' meant.

"Uncle Alphard went down with me," Sirius said with a grin, pointing out another scorch mark. "He gave me a bit of money. My mother didn't appreciate that at all."

"Who are the rest?" Harry asked. "What did they do?"

"Well, my cousin Andromeda married a muggleborn," Sirius said. "You've met her daughter. She doesn't even seem to be on here... Tonks, I mean. The Metamorphagus."

Harry grinned. "So that turned out alright," he said. He liked Tonks. She had helped even the playing field yesterday when Fred and George took advantage of being allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts to make Harry's bacon try to bargain for its life at breakfast. Her pig snout was sensational, as was her persistence in chasing them down and giving each of them one of their own.

"Without a doubt," Sirius agreed, looking for another burn mark. "Cedrella almost had it worse than Andromeda, from the stories. She married a Weasley." Sirius pointed out a mark a couple generations up.

"You're even related to the Weasleys?" Harry asked. A scuffling noise at the door had them both looking up.

"All the pureblood families are interrelated," Sirius said, peering with worry at the half open door and lowering his voice. "Molly's my cousin by marriage, and Arthur's a second cousin or something like it."

"We're related?" Ron asked with interest, pushing the door open further and balancing a box of dusty antique pottery against the frame. "That's fascinating. Tell me more."

"You should know this, Ron," Sirius said, relaxing now that he knew he wasn't about to be forced into some elaborate doxy extermination scheme, like yesterday. "Your family follows their own bloodline as closely as the rest of us, even if you don't mind a bit of mixing now and then."

Ron set his box down on the floor and closed the door carefully behind him. "Well, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But I'd much rather be in here learning about how the Weasleys are blood traitors than out there polishing candelabras."

"Fair enough. You're in good company." Sirius waved him over to where he and Harry were leaning against a table, examining the tapestry together. "All the blood traitors in the Black family for the last couple centuries have been muggle lovers or Gryffindor lovers."

"Or squibs," Ron said. "Right?"

Sirius peered at the family tree and stabbed his finger at another burn mark. "Or squibs, that's right. You'd think they'd disown people for things like unhealthy obsessions with death-" He pointed at three or four different names with a bitter twist to his mouth, "Or sheep-" His finger prodded at the name of one of the unmarried men of an older generation, "Or even kleptomania-" Harry was surprised to see him point at one of the Longbottoms. "But the Black family has drawn their line in the sand, and they've stuck to it. Death Eaters are fine. Gryffindors, not so much."

"The Malfoys fit right in," Ron said under his breath, then seemed to remember suddenly that Harry was in the room and went red around the ears. "Er, sorry," he said. "Didn't mean anything by it."

Harry, who had been avoiding looking at that part of the tree entirely, shrugged. "S'fine," he said. "It's true."

Sirius glanced at Harry but refrained from commenting, which Harry was grateful for. He knew how he felt about Draco's father, but he'd only just this week managed to get the kind of distance that would allow him to think about Draco at all, let alone how he felt about their ruined friendship.

"The whole Black family are a delight to be around at holidays," Sirius agreed. "Now let me tell you about Araminta Meliflua and the Muggle-hunting Bill she tried to push through at the Ministry..."

* * *

_A/N: Because I end up repeating this every time Ginny shows up: No, there will be no Harry/Ginny. None whatsoever. I just don't have it in me. It makes no sense in this universe.  
_


	52. The Summer

A mess of letters arrived for Harry mid week, ruining an otherwise cheerful breakfast. Hermione set her fork down with a frown as Harry divested the final owl of its burden and dropped the letter in the small pile behind his chair.

"I thought she stopped..."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't seen the paper yet, but I don't think it was her." He picked up his glass of pumpkin juice and forced down a sip. "If it had been Skeeter, I'd have triple that, at least."

"How are all these letters even getting through the wards?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I wouldn't think strangers should be able to reach you here."

"Ah, that would be Sirius's doing." Remus leaned toward them, joining the conversation with an apologetic smile. "He was adamant that you had a right to your letters, back when we were altering the wards on Privet Drive. We had planned to only allow owls from known writers as usual, but you know how upset he's been about Dumbledore's insistence that you stay here, rather than in Devon. He wanted you to be able to make your own decisions about your post, if not your location." Remus glanced behind Harry's chair at the letters on the floor. "Though perhaps he made a miscalculation..."

"No," Harry said, surprise making him smile in spite of himself and the piles of hate mail he'd received over the course of the summer. "He... It was good of him to want to let me have some independence."

The three of them looked over at Sirius, who was currently explaining something no doubt fascinating to Tonks and Mrs. Weasley at the other end of the table, his hands describing wild arcs of illustrative shapes through the air and actually swooping down to pick up the salt shaker and wave it around for emphasis occasionally.

"Do you want me to talk to Dumbledore about limiting your post?" Remus asked after a moment.

"Oh, please yes," Harry said without hesitation. "As soon as you can."

"Quite the owl magnet these days, aren't you, Harry?" Fred and George dropped down into seats on either side of his chair, beaming at him. Harry met Hermione's eyes across the table and mirrored her resigned amusement. Fred and George had been trying to charm him into investing in their joke shop since his arrival.

"What can I do for the two of you?" Harry asked, spearing a bit of egg on his fork and taking a bite.

"We wanted to make a proposal-"

"-hear us out, now!"

George put on a deep announcer's voice. "Only you, Harry Potter, can help us save wizardkind!"

Harry did his best to express his skepticism via his next bite of toast. Fred and George glanced at each other over Harry's head and nodded, causing Hermione to sit up straight and Harry to put down his toast.

"The forces of darkness are gathering, Harry," Fred said in deep, mysterious tones, waving his wand at Harry's pile of letters. The majority of them rose into the air, ripping themselves open and folding around each other to create a rudimentary troll made of paper. It wasn't quite origami and it wasn't quite papier-mâché, but it was functional enough to pick up a paper club and glare around with dull eyes.

"We as thoughtful members of the community need to unite and do what we can to bring light back into the lives of the citizenry," George continued, waving his wand as well. The last two letters formed a paper wizard who went up to the troll's knee. Harry's reaction to this wanton destruction of his property was to pick up his toast and turn around in his seat to watch along with the rest of the table, curious.

The troll and the little wizard circled each other, occasionally making or parrying attacks. Despite the small stature of the wizard, it was holding out pretty well, at least until the troll seemed to realize its advantage and roared, lumbering toward the wizard and trying to step on it.

"Sometimes that means helping out the little guy," George continued. Fred waved his wand in a complicated little motion that set the troll on fire.

_"Fred and George Weasley!"_

Molly, who had been watching warily prior to the addition of flames, rushed forward from her spot at the table and waved her wand at the fireball that had once been a pile of insults for Harry. Water doused the troll and it crumpled into a heap of charred, soggy paper on the stone floor. "How many times have I told you, you do not set firesindoors! Especially when we are guests in someone else's home! This is the last straw!"

She carried on shouting, but it was too late. Harry stared at the mess his letters had become, biting his lip to hide his amusement. When he glanced at the twins, George took the opportunity to lift his eyebrows and grin hopefully while Fred distracted their mother.

He would hear them out, for certain.

* * *

Harry got a letter from Dudley later that day, detailing all the fun, exciting, muggle things he and his mother had been doing since Harry left. The letter was addressed to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to save time, according to Dudley, so Harry just reclined on his bed and listened as Ron read it out loud to the room.

"What's it been like, having her back?" Hermione asked once Ron finished his monologue.

"Awkward," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "Tense. Alarmingly cheerful."

"Sounds like fun, mate," Ron said, making a face and tossing the letter on the bed. "Let's go down to dinner."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and stood up as well. Hermione followed reluctantly.

"Harry," she said, bumping shoulders with him as they went down the stairs. "You never hung up the phone, you know. I heard you yelling at your aunt."

Harry grimaced and fixed his eyes on one of the house elves mounted on the wall ahead. "She said she saw the dementor and was scared, so naturally she locked the door and left us to die," he said, sneering somewhat.

"Which is why I mention it." Hermione seemed distressed, and grabbed his arm, coming to a halt before they reached the door to the kitchen. "I hate to get involved, it's not my business, but... oh, Harry, muggles can't see dementors."

Harry clenched his fists and spun back to the hallway to pace. "I knew she was lying! I knew it! I - I have to tell Dudley."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, and Harry remembered suddenly the way he'd left things at Privet Drive. He came to a halt in front of her, his heart sinking. "I can't tell him."

Hermione hesitated. "Why? You have to."

"I can't." He shook his head, certain. "They won't believe me."

"But Harry, she can't even see dementors," Hermione pointed out. "It's a fact. They can't argue with facts."

Harry scoffed. "It's the Dursleys, Hermione. Of course they can." He scrubbed his hand through his hair, frowning. "They've missed her. A lot. Her word against mine; they'll side with her so they can have their normal, perfect family back, and I'll be the scapegoat."

Then things really would be 'just like they were before', and the painful feeling in Harry's chest at the thought was followed by dull surprise. He hadn't realized he liked the way things were now as much as all that.

"I can't tell them," he repeated. Hermione's brows drew together in what looked like concern, but Harry waved her off and cut the conversation short by stepping past her through the kitchen door.

He settled himself between Sirius and Ron and filled up his plate, laughing when Sirius told a joke and avoiding eye contact with Hermione, who sat down next to Remus and cast him worried glances from time to time.

"I think Kreacher's been stealing things again," Remus said to Sirius. "The spells on the rubbish bags have been tampered with, you were right."

"Bloody elf," Sirius said, sounding annoyed. His next words were interrupted by the roaring of the floo, which spit out Tonks.

"Wotcher," she said as she tumbled out of the fireplace. Without slowing down to catch her balance, she managed to grab a plate from the end of the table and fall into a chair next to Remus.

"Impressive," Remus said. She grinned at him.

"That was so clumsy it was almost graceful," Sirius agreed, tipping his cup to her.

Talk turned to Tonks and her assignment, which ended up sounding less interesting than the younger residents of the house would have hoped. Hermione and Ginny might have disapproved of being eavesdropped on themselves, but no one complained when Fred and George managed to sneak their Ears through Imperturbable doors and listen in on Order conversations.

"Kingsley claims no one will suspect an Auror hanging about, but Unspeakables are paranoid, in my experience," Tonks said, using her bread roll to point at Sirius with more emphasis before taking a bite.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Harry asked. "Is he still investigating why that dementor was at Privet Drive?"

Tonks chewed on her roll, nodding. There hadn't been much news on that front from anyone, really. Harry would really have liked to ask about Shacklebolt's connection to his aunt as well, but given the choice between finding out what his aunt had been up to and finding out why he and Dudley had been attacked, he chose the latter.

"It's a tricky situation" she said, setting down her roll. "The dementors are supposed to be under Ministry control. So that means that either they aren't, in which case we have a big problem, or, well... or someone from the Ministry sent one to your place, in which case, well-"

"We have a big problem," Remus said grimly. Tonks made a face and nodded.

"It's slow going," she admitted. "But you'll hear about it if there's any kind of resolution."

"These are dark times," Sirius said, and everyone nodded. "Times like these, a person wants to spend with their family, close to home-"

Remus groaned, and Tonks let her head drop onto the table with a thunk. Harry snickered and stuffed a big bite of stew in his mouth.

"Harry, you know you'd rather be in Devon!" Sirius turned to him for backup. Harry shrugged and pointed at his mouth in apology, chewing slowly. He was somewhat conflicted over the choice. He liked Sirius's house better, certainly, but he liked the company here, and the feeling that they could really know what was going on with the resistance to Voldemort if only they could do a good enough job of eavesdropping.

"We have almost all the same wards on our place," Sirius said, undeterred. "We have an unplottable location, we have fresh air, we can go outside! No one has ever known where our house is. Contrast that with the crazy old bat who has portraits who knows where else-"

"Sirius, I'm sure you know where else," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "That crazy old bat is your mother. This house has a Fidelus Charm on it, which ours doesn't. That's why we're here and you know it."

Sirius grumbled and stabbed his fork into his bowl. This was always the argument that caught him out. "Yes well," he said ungraciously. "We could have gotten one of those, Remus. I don't see why not."

"If we were going to bother putting in the kind of effort necessary to put a Fidelus on our house, we might as well have saved the effort of warding this one, and just based headquarters there," Remus sighed. "And you didn't want that any more than I did."

Sirius set his fork down and looked to be gathering himself for a long response, so when the fireplace flared up again everyone turned to it with relief.

Professor Snape stepped out, raising an eyebrow at the attention. His eyes settled on Sirius, whose mulish expression hadn't yet dissipated, and dark amusement curled at the corners of his mouth.

"Still, Black?" he asked.

Sirius glared. "It's none of your business, Snape. Don't stick your greasy nose in where it doesn't belong."

"How does the muggle phrase go?" Snape paused, as though in thought. "Ah, yes. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, don't you agree?"

Sirius put his palms flat on the table as though preparing to stand, his eyebrows gathering with suspicion. "Is that a threat, Snape? I'll have you know the walls of my house are well warded."

Snape's eyes glinted with delight. "Obviously."

Hermione and Remus both looked grudgingly amused, and Harry was sure his expression was no different. It was possible that Snape had been waiting months to use that one, and Sirius played his part to a tee.

"Um, Sirius," Harry said, putting a hand on his arm. Sirius glanced over as though he'd forgotten Harry was there, and a vaguely guilty look passed over his features.

"Did you need something, Severus?" Remus asked.

"I must speak to Albus," Snape said, glancing at Harry. "Find me when you have finished your dinner, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, watching as Snape swept from the kitchen. Fortunately, the wind had been taken from Sirius's sails after Snape's arrival, and Remus managed to change the topic to Quidditch.

Setting down his fork, Harry pushed back from the table and excused himself as Sirius distracted the group with his spirited defense of the Starfish and Stick maneuver when defending against stooging.

He poked his head into the parlor as he passed, and the dusty sitting room. No Snape. He checked the drawing room as well, and finally discovered his professor's cloak resting over the back of a chair in the library. He sat down to wait.

"This was waiting for you outside the wards when I arrived." Snape had entered the room silently and now stood in front of Harry's chair. Harry put aside the book he'd been flipping through and looked up to see a letter held loosely in Snape's grasp. The fine parchment told him all he needed to know about who it was from and what he'd be doing with it after Snape left.

_"No matter what you may have heard, and despite his position as a school governor,"_ Snape continued, switching fluidly to Parseltongue and making no attempt to hand Harry his letter, _"Lucius Malfoy does not know everything that happens at Hogwarts. In my experience, he knows very little."_

Harry frowned and followed Snape to the heavy oak table that sat near the window. Snape set the letter down between them and caught Harry's eye when he looked up. _"What are the five basic components of successful legilimency?"_

Harry looked away, his eyes falling on the letter. _"Er, eye contact, the tranquility of my mind, the specificity of my goal, stealth and awareness of potential defenses, and... ah... focus?"_

Snape waited unblinkingly, and Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd missed. He took a moment to be grateful that he really had done some reading over the summer and that the book had been thoroughly annotated in Snape's own spiky handwriting, providing more insight into the text than Harry could ever have managed on his own._ "Oh."_ He remembered._ "Suggestion. It's easier if you get the other person to think about what you want to know before you attempt it."_

Snape tilted his head in acknowledgement. _"And what of legal restrictions placed upon Legilimens?"_

_"You have to be approved by the Ministry to study,"_ Harry said, thinking back to what he'd skimmed through several weeks ago. _"Character tests and registration, like animagi."_

Neither he nor Snape brought up the very salient point that Harry had never been approved or even attempted as much. Harry had rightly assumed he was meant to be keeping his mouth shut, considering Snape's next question.

_"Penalties for abuse?"_

_"Azkaban and fines,"_ Harry responded promptly. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry waited for the next question with an expression of innocent curiosity on his face.

_"Very well,"_ Snape said after the silence had stretched to his satisfaction._ "Your Occlumency lessons have reached the first plateau. In order to take your skills to the next level, you must have a more intimate understanding of exactly what it is you are defending against."_

_"Legllimency theory?"_

_"A more intimate understanding, still._ _I wish you to have the experience of intruding, so that you may better recognise an intruder's intentions because they will have once been your own." _Snape lifted his head and fixed Harry with a cool, thoughtful expression. _"As in duelling, you must be capable of understanding and employing both offensive and defensive tactics to be truly successful. Tonight we begin your foray into the offensive realm of mental conflict, Mr. Potter."_

Harry sat up straighter in his chair and nodded his agreement._ "Yes, sir,"_ he hissed, thinking back to some of the more colourful descriptions of legilimency he had read about in Snape's book. Anxiety and excitement made his heart beat faster.

_"Describe in detail the procedure for casting the spell..."_

* * *

After a few hours, Snape gathered his cloak and swept out of the library, having arranged to meet with Harry once more before their return to Hogwarts. Harry was left sitting by himself, mind still buzzing with the concepts they had just discussed and the six feet on the ethics of mind magic he'd been assigned to finish before their next lesson.

The fine parchment of Draco's letter sat stark against the oak of the table, capturing his attention when he happened to catch sight of it in his peripheral vision. He stared at it for a long moment, until a sound from outside the library door startled him and brought him back to himself, making him suddenly aware of how he'd been leaning away from it as though it might leap up and cut him open at any moment.

He huffed at himself and stood up to rummage around in the desk on the other side of the room to find some parchment and ink, distracted completely from his thoughts on legilimency. He would write to Dudley, and he wouldn't be stupid about Draco's letter. It wasn't going to hurt him. Returning to the table to write struck him as the sort of thing someone would do if they weren't bothered, so he made himself sit down where Snape had been and set up the inkwell with determination.

_Dudley,_ he wrote. _I'm glad you're having fun. Fred and George are trying to open a joke shop, and they want me to help..._

Harry told Dudley all the news of Grimmauld Place, which wasn't terribly much. He tried hard to avoid talking about Aunt Petunia, which was difficult when Dudley had written of nothing else in his initial letter. Harry dipped his quill in the ink one last time to bring the note to a close when Draco's letter caught his eye again. After another, somewhat shorter one-sided staring contest, he swallowed and pressed quill to parchment again:

_Draco sent another letter. Snape says I should read them. I can't imagine what he has to say to me that would take up so much space. The one that arrived today must be at least five feet. Fred and George could probably make two trolls from all the parchment he sends._

Harry signed his name and leaned back, waiting for the ink to dry and looking out the window, at the books in their shelves; anywhere but at the letter.

* * *

One of the more positive things about staying at Grimmauld Place was that Harry could just floo with Pansy and Blaise when he wanted to talk to them, instead of having to wait days for an owl to arrive.

"Skeeter hasn't written anything since our arrangement," Harry said, leaning back on his hands. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, watching Pansy's head bob in the flames when she shifted.

"Here's to hoping it stays that way," she said as the flames licked at her hair. "How are things in Gryffindoria?"

Harry had tried to give Pansy and Blaise an idea of where he was, but he found himself unable to say even the name of the place. The Fidelus Charm in action, according to Remus. He couldn't even tell them there was a Fidelus Charm, and whenever he tried to describe what Grimmauld Place was like, their eyes glossed over and his voice stuttered nonsense. They had taken to calling it Gryffindoria (and other variations on the theme), since the only thing Harry had been able to get across was that he was the only Slytherin in residence, though again, details were not forthcoming. He didn't even try to bring up Snape's visits.

"Red and gold, mostly," Harry said. He found that flippancy and outright lying worked well when trying to describe his surroundings and the people around him. He'd come up with a code of sorts and could only hope they were following along. "Merlin and Arthur got into another row over their castle at dinner last night."

Pansy's mouth and eyebrows flattened in a kind of bewildered amusement. "Right," she said. "And how are the... what did you call them yesterday?"

"Are you asking about the nargles?" Harry asked solicitously. "I think I'm going to make a deal with them after all. They made a very convincing presentation."

"I always wish Hermione was here to translate when you start talking like that."

Harry shrugged. Pansy followed most of the nonsense he said. Most of the time. There wasn't really much he could do if she didn't, because of the spell. "The centaur is being pushy. I've been trying to avoid her."

"Or Lovegood, actually, though her explanation might make less sense than you do." Pansy shifted again. "Next time, you're sticking your head in the floo. My knees hurt."

"We'll be back at school soon," Harry said, dropping back into uncoded conversation with relief. "We might not even talk again before we see each other on the train."

Pansy glared at him. "Harry Potter, you are not going to ignore me for the next week."

"I wasn't going to ignore you!" Harry rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer to the fireplace. "I just meant we'll probably be busy with packing and last minute things."

"You just mean you don't want to risk me bringing up Draco again," Pansy countered, raising an eyebrow. "Because I plan to and you know it. Oh wait!" She looked to her left, then her right, and then assumed an expression of surprise. "Fancy that, Harry, we're talking about him now. Did you read the last letter he sent you?"

Harry groaned. "No, I did not read it. And I-"

"Harry-"

"I don't want to, Pansy."

Pansy looked ready to leap out of the fire and shake him. As a matter of fact, the flames were starting to spit and crackle. Harry scooted back and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Too bad," she enunciated. "It's been the entire summer. Draco is making himself sick over everything that happened. He's sorry and worried and miserable and fighting with his parents every day, and you're sitting in your borrowed Gryffindor Tower, pretending he doesn't even exist!"

Harry frowned. "I'm not-"

"You could read his letters, even if you don't respond, Harry!" Pansy raised her voice and otherwise ignored his interruption. "Give me something to tell him that doesn't make him think you hate him."

"I don't hate him!"

"Then _read his letters_!"

"I _can't_!"

"Why NOT?"

They were both shouting now. Harry's chest felt tight and his eyes were itchy. Pansy's face was red and fierce. The flames surrounding her only accentuated her glare.

Harry rubbed his face with one hand and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. That had escalated faster than he would have liked. He tried to gather his thoughts, failed dismally, and decided to start talking anyway.

"I -" He paused and let his breath out in a woosh that made the flames flicker around Pansy's ears. "His father! He laughed, Pansy! And what he said... And Draco, all year... I just - he kept saying... awful things! I don't know if I can - I mean, how am I supposed to-?"

Pansy had fallen silent and was waiting for him to continue with a tense sort of neutrality to her expression. Harry thought it looked a bit like worry, and tried to ignore it.

"I can't trust him," he said after a long pause. "He loves his father. He talks about him all the time! And I can't ask him to choose me over his family, and..." Harry scrubbed at his forehead roughly and met her eyes pleadingly. "I _can't_, Pansy."

* * *

Shouting through the floo at Pansy had cleared a few things up, even for Harry. He hadn't been certain himself why he was so against reading Draco's letters, but now that he'd said it out loud, it made sense, and it made it easier.

Dudley's owl returned a couple days before school started, laden with a brown wrapped parcel along with a note, which Harry opened first. The letter was the same bucket of effusions as the last one, and Harry skimmed it. He found the explanation for the parcel at the end:

_I thought you might change your mind, so I held on to them for you._

Harry ripped off the wrapping and sure enough, a pile of letters marked with the Malfoy crest (and some without) spilled onto the bedspread, where they stayed for another hour while Harry stared at them and staged a fierce mental debate.

Dudley was a total git, he decided finally. But the idea of opening one of the letters didn't fill him with indefinable pain anymore, which meant that, unlike before, he had a choice of whether or not he wanted to see what Draco had written.

Another stretch of time passed while Harry went back and forth, but he was and always had been interminably curious. He finally sifted through the pile and found a shorter letter, ripping it open before he could change his mind.

_Sometimes you're a complete wanker, you know that?_

Harry blinked and glared at the letter.

That was all of it. It was dated toward the beginning of August, and had the proper salutation and even a rather officious signature that Draco had spent months developing back in second year, but really, it was just one line.

Harry dropped it on the floor and rifled through the pile for a thicker one. Pansy and Blaise had better not have been lying all summer.

_I'm so sorry for everything,_ this letter began. Harry nodded to himself. That was more along the lines of what he'd been led to expect. _I don't know what to do, my father says I can't even speak to you anymore. If he knew I've been writing to you he'd be furious._

_It doesn't matter though, you're not reading these anyway. You're just going to toss this in your muggle bin at your muggle house because you hate me and you have every right, although that doesn't mean you're not an arsehole for ignoring me..._

It carried on in a similar maudlin tone for several pages, which Harry read through curiously. Draco honestly hadn't expected Harry to read it, and it showed. There were blotches that he hadn't bothered to fix, and a lot more insults directed toward both his own father and Harry than he would ever express if he thought he had an audience.

Harry also suspected from the context that Draco had used the word 'muggle' as a profanity several times, though he wasn't entirely positive. Draco's handwriting was still perfect, despite the blotches and a few crossed out words, and Harry wrinkled his nose and tossed the letter aside.

He reached for another almost immediately. Outside, the stars came out, and when Ron came in and climbed into bed, Harry ignored him, engrossed in a letter from mid-July that described Draco's mother's reaction to the whole mess and then alternated between explaining why Harry was a bad person for not returning his letters and describing at length how sorry he was for what he'd said over the course of the last year.

Harry couldn't honestly tell whether to be angry at Draco for some of the things he said, or pity him for everything he said, but he moved on to the next letter in the pile nonetheless. It had been sent in early June and inside, Draco both apologised profusely and entreated Harry to let him know he was alright, after which he asked Harry to contact Blaise if he had a message for Draco, because his father wouldn't take well to finding out that Draco was receiving post from Harry at the Manor.

When he'd read all the letters, Harry leaned back against his headboard and surveyed the parchment spooled out across his blankets with a new slump in his shoulders. There were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts.

On the one hand, that meant there was no question of Harry's having to write a reply to any of it, which was good.

On the other hand, there were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts. Draco included.

Harry didn't know what that was.

* * *

_A/N: Everybody, everybody! Your reviews are like diamonds, and I adore you all. But you should know: this story is about to take a turn. It's marked humor, and there still will be humor because that's how I roll, but there's going to be a lot more drama, and a lot more plot. I cannot guarantee that all the characters will emerge unscathed. I really have to emphasise that. I cannot guarantee that for anyone. Um. So. Fair warning?_


	53. The Conflict

The majority of Harry's first ever ride on the Hogwarts Express back when he was eleven had been spent hiding in the loo, and it was still better than what he experienced on his way into fifth year.

"...And then mum said I could try driving the car when we come back for winter holiday, even though you aren't technically allowed until you're seventeen."

Ron unwrapped one of Dudley's pumpkin pasties and shrugged. "I've driven a car before."

Dudley was outraged. "No you haven't! Wizards don't even have cars!" He paused and glanced at Hermione. "Do they?"

"Sometimes they do," Ron said defensively. "My dad modified one. It even flies and goes invisible and things."

"I remember that car," Harry said, glad to be talking about something that wasn't Aunt Petunia. "Professor Lupin drove me to his house in it, once. It was terrifying. Brooms should be in the air, and cars should be on the ground. And if they're not, you should at least be able to see what you're doing."

"I think that's highly illegal, anyway, Ron," Hermione cut in. She was already dressed in her uniform, prefect badge pinned to her chest and sparkling proudly.

"I bet you haven't driven it at all," Dudley said, and puffed himself up. "Mum says usually teenagers aren't responsible enough to drive, but she thinks I'd be fantastic."

"I have driven it," Ron disagreed. "Fred and George and I take it out when Dad won't notice, and we even fly it sometimes!"

"Fred and George wouldn't let you fly it," Neville interjected from the other corner of the compartment, where he was fiddling with a pot of some strange looking plant. His own prefect badge shone in a more subdued manner on his lapel. "I bet they don't even let you sit in front when they're flying."

Ron's ears were getting red. Dudley took the attention off him by, unsurprisingly, turning the conversation back to his mother. "Yeah, but mum says she's going to train me up so I can pass my test on my birthday and everything."

Dudley hadn't stopped talking about his mother since they got on the train. Harry was ready to yell at Hermione to get her to stop sending him worried and sympathetic glances every time he did.

"I'm going to go find... Anthony and Luna," Harry said, having decided to avoid the inevitable conflict. The Gryffindors called their goodbyes to him as he hurried out the door, which he closed with a sigh. He didn't fancy poking his head into dozens of other compartments, but there wasn't really much of a choice if he wanted to find his Ravenclaw friends. He set off down the corridor and got to work.

* * *

Every compartment Harry looked in on met him with hostile or wide eyed expressions when they realized it was him. He'd been to ten compartments and was starting to seriously consider giving up and taking a nap in one of the loos until they arrived at Hogwarts.

Going back to Dudley and his gushing over Aunt Petunia and every single unfailingly muggle thing they'd done together that summer wasn't an option. He was almost afraid he'd find Blaise and Pansy, since they would either be alone, or they wouldn't be. Neither option sounded appealing. Anthony and Luna were a safer bet, if only he could find them without also finding out exactly how many of his fellow Hogwarts students had a subscription to the Daily Prophet.

Easier said than done.

Harry wandered up and down in the corridor, filled with indecision until he found himself at the end of the train and turned around to see Draco exiting a compartment and sliding the door shut with deliberation. Harry glanced at the compartments on either side of him and spent a second longer than he should have debating which one to duck into.

"Harry." Draco was looking right at him, now, and standing directly in front of him.

He was saying something, and he looked so worried and upset that Harry wished he had another train car to back into. The last time Harry had seen Draco looking that concerned, Harry had been broken and bleeding and had just escaped from the graveyard where Crouch Jr had cut off his own hand and forced Harry to lean over a cauldron and bleed bright red blood into the diamond coloured water...

Harry shook his head a few times, blinking against his tunnelling vision and hoping distantly that Draco wouldn't notice his state. Draco's eyebrows drew together as he spoke. He looked paler than he had been last year, which was a feat.

"I just wanted you to know," Draco said, gesturing vaguely. "Blaise said you didn't read any of my letters, so I just wanted to..."

He trailed off and looked more closely at Harry. Whatever he saw made his mouth tighten. "Right. I'll... I'll just go."

Draco hurried away, and only once Harry had the corridor to himself again did he finally take a sharp breath and lean back against the wall. The loo was looking better and better.

* * *

At the feast, Draco sat next to Theodore Nott, though they didn't seem to speak to each other. Harry decided not to notice either way. He was partially successful, considering that he was still incredibly disconcerted by the skeletal horses that had been pulling the school carriages this year. He had liked it better when he thought the carriages were charmed.

The new Defense teacher was an unpleasant looking, pink clad woman from the Ministry. Harry remembered hearing Tonks and Remus discussing her appointment a couple days ago. She had sounded awful then, and from the long, dry speech she gave as she cast her pouchy gaze over the Hall, Harry wasn't holding out much hope.

"If you're going to sit with Harry and I, you can at least be enough of an adult to pass the water jug when asked," Pansy hissed.

That was another thing.

"I'm sitting with Harry," Blaise responded, glaring at her and pouring more water into his already half full cup. "I don't see how it's anything to do with me if you decide to sit with us. And I thought we agreed not to be petty about this."

If the Defense professor hadn't still been speaking, Harry was sure Pansy would have yelled her next words. Her harsh whisper was loud enough to garner a few glares from the sixth year prefects. "I am not the one who won't pass the water jug, Blaise."

"So you two broke up, then," Harry said unnecessarily. "That's awful. When did that happen?"

"Last week," Blaise said, raising his eyebrow at Pansy and pointedly ignoring the water jug sitting in front of him. "Pansy said she couldn't stand me anymore."

"Yes, well Blaise called me an awful harridan, but no one's pointing fingers," Pansy retorted. "Harry, it's okay. Neither of us wants to put you in the middle of this."

Harry didn't even bother to point out their current seating arrangements. He picked up the water jug and set it in front of Pansy on his other side. She seemed far more pleased than the situation warranted.

At least Anthony and Luna looked fairly cheerful over at the Ravenclaw table, or at least what passed for cheerful for them. As Harry watched, Anthony slid easily into his 'I Have A Book Open Under The Table And Am Ignoring You' slump, while Luna hummed next to him and tugged at her radish earrings occasionally. She saw Harry looking and waved.

"...Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be..."

The Weasley twins were playing a baffling game involving a ball of parchment and a fork, and Harry spent a few minutes trying to puzzle out the rules before giving up. Hermione seemed to actually be paying attention to the new professor, and her expression made Harry frown and tune in again.

"...some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement..."

Harry shook his head and resolved to ask Hermione later what the new professor had said to get her looking like she'd smelled something foul and was trying not to let on.

In the meantime, he went back to pretending the rest of the hall wasn't scowling at him whenever he accidentally made eye contact. Because they definitely were. Skeeter had done a lot more damage than he'd thought.

He didn't even know most of the students he was being glared at by. Granted, it was worse at the Slytherin table, but that was no surprise after all the hate mail he'd gotten over the summer.

"I don't think Harry wants to hear you tapping your fingers on the table like a troglodyte, Blaise," Pansy muttered under her breath. "Do try to be considerate for once in your life."

"Hey, remember that time in third year when we all went to Pansy's dorm?" Harry asked abruptly.

"To look at the Map, you mean?" Pansy frowned, obviously trying to work out what Harry was getting at.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Do you remember that, Blaise?"

Blaise gave him a funny look. "I remember you and Draco got covered in boils."

"Yeah," Harry said, and took a sip of water. "Yeah, that time. That was fun."

The two of them blinked at him, waiting for more, but Harry just turned his attention back to the blathering from the head table. He was exhausted already. If only the new professor would stop talking, he could go up to his dorm and fall straight to sleep. Things would hopefully be better in the morning.

* * *

"Wands away and quills out, please."

Professor Umbridge's high-pitched, girlish voice was grating on Harry's already frayed nerves. On his way up to the classroom, people from every House had seen him and _run in the opposite direction_. Some of them had sneered. Some of them had pulled out their wands or walked closer to their friends. None of them had said a word to him. It was like they thought he was nutters or something.

Pansy and Blaise walked with him to classes, determinedly silent in the other's presence, but still there. It was better than being alone, anyway, which wasn't saying much.

And now they were all turning to page five of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard, and reading the most agonizingly boring first chapter Harry had ever encountered. He gave up quickly and looked around the room instead, realizing almost immediately that he wasn't the only one. Daphne Greengrass was taking the opportunity to plait her hair, though she kept her eyes on her book and made a big show of turning a page every once in a while. Umbridge was sitting at the front of the class, smiling pleasantly and pointedly at every stray eye.

Another twenty minutes passed in painful silence, until finally, Theodore Nott raised his hand.

Umbridge ignored him, and Theo propped his chin up in his other hand, letting his arm dangle aloft as he stared down the top of their professor's mousy brown head.

Finally, she gave in. Theo had clearly settled in for an entire class period of keeping his hand in the air, and everyone else had settled in to watch.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Oh no," Theo said amiably. "I've just finished, is all. I think we all have."

The rest of the class murmured their agreement. Harry joined in and discreetly flipped to the last page of the chapter.

"Is that so?" Umbridge said. "Lovely. Then I should like you all to turn to page nineteen and begin Chapter Two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation'."

The whole group of them exchanged incredulous glances.

"Professor..." One of the girls, Tracy, raised her hand as she spoke. "I have a question."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "In the future, dear, wait until you are called on to speak."

"Yes, ma'am, of course, my apologies," she said, ducking her head and continuing in an anxious tone before Umbridge could reply. "My name is Tracy Davis, ma'am. It's only, I sometimes have difficulty in keeping up with my coursework, and especially as this is our O.W.L. year, I wonder if it might be possible if you please, ma'am, for you to provide a Ministry-approved syllabus that I could follow, in order to apply myself more efficiently?"

Umbridge blinked at her for a long moment, but Tracy's face was beautifully earnest. Several other students nodded and a positive murmur floated through the room.

"I believe I provided you with the course aims at the beginning of the lesson," Umbridge said. "Do you not find that sufficient to your needs?"

"I'm terribly sorry ma'am." Tracy ducked her head again and managed a blush. "I'd like to begin my revision schedule as soon as possible, you understand. I find that the other professors don't always have the most predictable or stable lesson plans, and I thought perhaps your curriculum could provide a sort of solid base to work from."

Umbridge thought this over and pressed her hands together, letting out a girlish giggle that made Harry shudder unexpectedly. "Well I suppose a Ministry-approved syllabus would be an effective learning tool, dear."

"Thank you so much, ma'am," Tracy gushed as Umbridge moved to the front desk and waved her wand over several sheets of parchment. "I really do believe theory and tradition are the finest tools of a successful education. We really are long since due for some structure at Hogwarts."

Harry glanced at Blaise, who had a small smirk playing around his mouth. He couldn't be the only one who thought Tracy was laying it on a bit thick, but Umbridge was up at her desk now, creating a syllabus and even wearing an sickly sweet smile as she did it.

* * *

"Tracy's good friends with some of the Ravenclaws," Pansy told him after class as they watched the other Slytherins crowd around Tracy's syllabus and make disgusted faces at it. "They had Defense first thing, read through four chapters in one class, and there was never any need to talk."

"Try and get a copy of that," Harry said, hanging back as he watched the rest of the Slytherins gather around. Draco broke out of the pack just as Pansy squeezed Harry's arm and stepped away. She stopped when she saw Draco coming and waited for him.

"So thoughtful, Draco," Pansy said with a smile, plucking his copy out of his hands while he was busy looking anxiously at Harry. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and examined his feet more thoroughly than he ever had before. He needed new trainers. "We'll see you in Herbology, darling?"

"Yeah," Draco said, looking back at her and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. Harry's shoelaces were fraying, too. "I'll see you there."

He fled in the direction of the Great Hall. Harry relaxed once he turned a corner out of sight and glanced at the syllabus.

"She really means to keep us reading that book all term," Pansy muttered, running a manicured finger down the rows of dates and assignments. "Well, I'm going to be catching up on my Witch Weekly subscription."

"This is... insane," Harry said, glaring at the paper. Pansy glanced up at him with a quirk of her mouth.

"We've had useless Defense teachers before, Harry. Somehow we'll manage."

"No," Harry shook his head, all the anger and frustration of the day boiling up and demanding to be released. "The Ministry put her here. They hand picked her, I heard about it over the summer. They've got her teaching us how to sit quietly while-"

Pansy shushed him. Harry ignored her and, indeed, raised his voice. Several of the Slytherins in the group crowded around Tracy glared at him.

"Voldemort, Pansy! I'm allowed to say it! He's back and he's killed people already, and we're _reading_ in the one class that's supposed to show us how to protect ourselves?"

Grabbing his arm, Pansy leaned closer. "Yes, I know, Harry. But do you know what's not going to help?"

Harry glared at her and opened his mouth. She lifted her 'I-dare-you' eyebrow and continued.

"What definitely _won't_ help is yelling about it in the corridor like a madman," she said. "Instead, we're going to do what we've always done, which is deal."

"But Dumbledore-"

"Got dropped from the Wizengamot for publicly supporting you, didn't you hear?" Pansy led him down the corridor by his elbow to a quieter spot. "You're not popular, Harry, face it. You're more infamous than famous, and you almost always have been. We need to work on your public relations, and that starts with tactical thinking, and _not shouting_."

Harry slumped. "Yes, _fine_," he grumbled. "I'm going to the library."

"Good!" Pansy said, beaming. "You go and you practice using your indoor voice."

* * *

"O.W.L.'s, no time to talk," Anthony said when Harry arrived at the library. Harry made a face at him.

"It's the first day of school, Anthony," he said, as though Anthony might have forgotten.

"Of fifth year, Harry," Anthony said, as though Harry might have forgotten. "I should have gotten started on this weeks ago, but I got that three volume treatise on Game Theory as a back-to-school present and I couldn't put it down. I have more than sixty optional texts to get through before May, and right now I have to come up with a combinatorial proof to decide where to start."

Harry sighed and sat down next to Luna while Anthony buried his nose in his lists and books again, looking far too pleased with it all. "How was your summer, Luna?"

"Strenuous and invigorating, Harry, thank you for asking." Luna smiled up at him from her own hefty tome. "I'm afraid I may not have much time to speak with you this year, either, unfortunately."

Harry let his head thump down on the table. "Why, Luna? You don't have O.W.L.'s."

"Not technically, no," Luna said from above him. "But I've been in the habit since the end of first year of reading for all of Anthony's classes in addition to my own. It's fascinating to be able to compare two of my own essays on the same topic with a year of personal and academic development separating them."

Harry lifted his head up and looked at her. "So, wait. You're doing all your assignments twice?"

Luna nodded and tilted her head so that it was parallel to his. Harry let his head thunk back on the table.

"It was Anthony's idea initially, but I do enjoy it," she explained with an absent sort of smile in her voice. "Though I imagine I will be quite busy this year."

"I have a headache," Harry told the table.

"You have bumped your head twice since you sat down," Luna said helpfully.

Harry groaned and made a face against the wood. "Maybe I was doing one of your puzzles and the answer turned out to be Ludenwic again."

"I thought it was usually Ludenberg?" Luna tilted her head curiously. "It's good to see you anyway, Harry."

"It's good to see you too, Luna," Harry said pulling his head off the desk and sitting up straight. "You too, Anthony."

Anthony waved a quill at Harry in tacit agreement.

"Anthony." Harry waited until Anthony finally paused in his writing and glanced up. "You and I are going to go flying this year, okay? Before it gets too cold out. I don't want to go flying in the snow."

"You've made me go flying in the snow before," Anthony said. "I didn't think you minded it."

Harry leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "I don't, but it's still better when it's nice out," he explained.

He sat with Anthony and Luna for the rest of lunch, basking in the comfortable silence and the near-empty library. He really did have a headache, and not from hitting his head on the table.

Clearing his mind helped, and he focused on maintaining that level of calm in the hallways on the way to his next class, Charms, where Flitwick shattered his peaceful interior by telling them they needed to come up with career goals. Harry hadn't given much thought to the topic at all, and had no idea where to start. Most of the adult wizards he knew were either professors or aurors, and neither of those sounded particularly appealing.

* * *

"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes," Fred proclaimed, displaying the logo for Harry's perusal. "Home of the finest tricks, gags, and pranks a wizard could ever ask for."

"Nice," Harry said, frowning at the pile of sweets. "How did you pull all this off so quickly?"

George shrugged. "We've had a lot of stuff in beta testing for a while. It took your funding to purchase the ingredients to let us work with our products on a larger scale."

"More importantly, we can really get a start on the antidotes to a few of these," Fred added. "And build up some word-of-mouth advertising while banging out a bit of market research at the same time."

Harry picked up a bright purple candy and sniffed it. "So, these actually work?"

"So far," George shrugged. "Right now we haven't moved past animal testing, but once we've figured out the proper dosages, we'll be looking for volunteers to test them out."

Harry hurriedly put the candy back down. "I'm going to say no in advance." The twins shared identical expressions of disappointment. "And what kind of animal testing?"

"Oh, well, that's actually a euphemism," Fred said with a wink. "George here is what the lovely female population would call a stallion-"

"And Fred's a lion, from what I've been told."

George waggled his eyebrows at Harry for good measure. Harry snorted.

They saluted him as he left the empty classroom they'd been meeting in. Getting updates about their joke shop was one of the few things Harry had insisted on when he agreed to front some money for the venture. They seemed to know what they were about, and there were more steps to move through to get to the point where they could start selling their products than Harry had imagined. It was entertaining and a good distraction.

He did have Quidditch practice to get to, though, and when he arrived, his teammates were already pulling on their gear. Harry sat down and strapped on his kneepads with haste, ignoring his normal locker in exchange for one that wasn't situated five feet from Draco's.

"Men! Focus!" Pucey, their Keeper and Captain, stood at the entrance to the showers, holding a whistle aloft as though he might blow it. Experience told them all to shut up and pay attention, immediately. The echo and the tile in here didn't create gentle acoustics. Harry felt his headache return at just the thought of it, and straightened up.

"Gryffindor House is vulnerable this year," Pucey told them. There was a murmur from the group. "They've lost their captain, and they are out of practice due to last term's... interruption."

The Slytherin team was just as out of practice, as Pucey (the replacement for the captain they'd lost) knew, but it was hardly relevant. It didn't matter to his mind that they weren't strong. Only that the opposition was weak. His leadership style was hardly a surprise.

The piercing blast of the whistle that came next was also very Pucey-like, and Harry scrambled with the rest of the team to finish changing and get out onto the field.

"This year we take the Cup, or I will personally spike every Slytherin Quidditch player's pumpkin juice with enough Impotency Elixir that your children's children will be sterile!"

There was sense in that threat somewhere, Harry was sure. He was switching to water until he found it, though.

* * *

_A/N: This'll be the last update from me before I go to Kenya! I'll be gone for two months, and I'll have someone update a few chapters in my absence. For more on that, see the poll on my profile. I know, I'm not just abandoning you all for the two months that I'm gone! Aren't I getting better at this? :] _

_Anyway, enjoy!_


	54. The Quill

"Have you been clearing your mind daily?"

"Yes, sir."

"And again at night before you sleep?"

"Every night."

"And you've been developing your thought-chains?"

"Yes."

Snape's gaze darted back and forth between Harry's eyes, and Harry felt himself begin Occluding automatically.

"Good," Snape said. "Where exactly do the headaches begin?"

Harry frowned and pressed his fingers against his own temples, and began pressing slowly along the width of his forehead until he reached what felt like the origin of the pain.

"Your scar."

Harry nodded and continued rubbing at the spot. Snape stood and swept over to his desk to thumb through a book that sat open on the surface.

"This is not ideal," Snape said. "To my knowledge, the Dark Lord does not know of the connection between the two of you."

Harry's eyes widened. "Sir?"

"As far as the headmaster and I have been able to surmise, your headaches last year correlated with the Dark Lord's gradual return to power. The Dark Lord was unaware of the connection as of less than a week ago, but if your headaches have returned, we can only suspect the worst."

"What should I do?" Harry asked, watching as Snape referenced the book again.

"For now," Snape said, glancing up at Harry, "Continue to clear your mind and practice your Occlumency, especially when you feel the beginnings of a headache. There are intelligent ways of exploiting this information, and there are thoughtless ways. Allow me to determine which is which before we move forward with any plan of action."

* * *

"It's absolutely useless, that's what it is."

Hermione threw her quill down on the table and glared at it for good measure.

"I agree," Harry said, throwing his own quill after hers perhaps a bit harder than necessary in support. "Defense is a joke this year."

As it was still the first week of school, the library was fairly empty but for Harry, his Gryffindor friends, and a few other frantic fifth and seventh years. Even Ron hadn't shown up today, leaving only Harry, Hermione, Neville and Dudley to their work.

"We'll never pass the O.W.L.s with lessons like these," Hermione muttered, pouring over the syllabus Harry had lent her. "Secure, risk free way, my foot."

Harry had another class with Umbridge later on today, and he wasn't looking forward to it at all. The only silver lining was that it was Friday, and though he'd probably spend the entire weekend doing homework, it was better than having to deal with the constant stares and whispers from the students and the pressure about O.W.L.s from the professors and Hermione.

"It's about more than just O.W.L.s, Hermione," Harry said, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands through his hair. "It's about being prepared if and when Voldemort stops hiding and starts killing people."

Neville twitched, and Harry frowned at him, misplaced anger boiling under his words. "It's true, Neville. I saw him."

"I know you did, Harry," Neville said with some surprise. "I didn't say you didn't. You caught me off guard with the name, that's all. I don't know anyone else who just blurts it out like that!"

Harry relaxed somewhat, and shrugged a little, still on edge but willing to be contrite. "Sorry, mate."

"I know it's about more than O.W.L.s, Harry," Hermione interrupted, still glaring at page after page of the syllabus. "Something has to be done. We can't waste a whole year we could be using to learn to defend ourselves, you're right. I'm going to find a way around this."

Hermione flipped the syllabus over and began scribbling on the back, grimacing every so often and glancing up at Harry, Neville and Dudley appraisingly once or twice. Knowing her, she'd not let them hear the end of it once she worked out a plan, so the other three left her to it and went back to their own work.

"We have more homework already in a week than we did in three last year," Neville said, flipping through his Transfiguration text woefully.

"This year is going to be awful," Harry agreed, still in a foul mood. He was working on Charms, personally. He glanced over at Dudley and realized his cousin wasn't using any books at all. Neville spotted this anomaly as well, and asked what Harry hadn't wanted to.

"What class is that for, Dudley?"

"Oh, it's a letter to my mum," Dudley explained. "Which reminds me. Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up, still mentally embroiled in whatever strategy she was concocting. "What?"

"Do you know if there's a post address muggles can use to send mail to Hogwarts, or do they have to use an owl?"

Blinking, she glanced from Dudley's inquiring expression to Harry's increasingly dark frown.

"I don't know, Dudley," she said slowly. "My parents always just use an owl. They bought one just to send me letters."

"That's odd," Neville joked, glancing uncomfortably around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. "Hermione not knowing something, I mean. Must be a first."

Harry stood up abruptly and gathered his things. "I had better get going," he explained when the three of them turned to him, startled. "I'll see you all later."

He took the time to Occlude as he left the library, though he wasn't certain if the headache he was experiencing at the moment was actually scar-based or not.

* * *

"Mr Potter, remove that unpleasant expression from your face at once."

Quite against his will, Harry's glare redoubled. He had been minding his own business, reading listlessly through the next chapter of Slinkhard's book and practicing nonverbal curses on a rolled up bit of parchment under his desk when Umbridge called him out. He might also have been glaring at her from time to time, but he hadn't disrupted the class in any way!

Umbridge frowned sternly at him. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Potter. Would you like to share with the class what has you in such a foul mood?"

"Harry," Blaise said out of the corner of his mouth. "Do not do it."

Harry managed to school his expression into neutrality and met her gaze. The rest of the class was watching by now, books happily forgotten in favour of this new drama.

"Nothing, professor," he managed to bite out. Umbridge raised an eyebrow at him from beneath a frilly purple bow.

"Did you disagree with something Mr. Slinkhard has to say about defensive measures?" she asked sweetly. Harry bristled, and Blaise jabbed him with his wand under the table, hard.

It was too late, though.

"Yes," Harry snapped. "Slinkhard doesn't sound like he's had to defend himself against anything more dangerous than a Puffskein in his entire life. We aren't going to learn anything about facing danger from him!"

"Do you expect to face danger in this classroom?" Umbridge sounded politely concerned. Beside him, Harry heard Blaise groan. All the other students were wearing absolutely impassive expressions, though their eyes darted back and forth between Harry and Umbridge as though watching a tennis match. At the next desk over, Pansy closed her eyes briefly, ashamed.

Harry knew he should stop himself, but he just couldn't. It had to be said.

"No! That's the whole problem! If we're not practicing, how are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves?"

Umbridge placed her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "Defend yourselves from what, Mr. Potter?"

"Harry, no," Blaise muttered. Harry opened his mouth, and despite all the hopes his friends had for him, said it.

* * *

"Detention!" Blaise exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that!"

"Did you expect me to just deny what happened last year?" Harry inquired, still outraged. They were in Care of Magical Creatures, but there was a substitute so the three of them stood toward the edge of the group and held their conversation in furious whispers while diagramming bowtruckles.

"Of course not," Pansy said. "But choose your battles! If we had to pick one person you shouldn't get into shouting matches with about the Dark Lord, just one, Harry, it would be the new Ministry plant who is both a professor and an unknown quantity! Shout at everyone else if you must! But not her!"

"But she said- I'm not lying!"

"We know that, Harry," Blaise said in a soothing voice. It struck Harry that he and Pansy were actually getting along for the moment, standing one on each side of Harry and berating him while pretending to pay attention to the lesson. It was almost a nice change of pace. They had been nearly unbearable since classes started again. "But this is not the way to convince anyone else."

"Well, what should I be doing to convince everyone else?" Harry asked. He raised an eyebrow at the extended pause that followed. "You don't have a clue, do you? Neither of you!"

"No, Harry, it's just-" Pansy paused, pursing her lips. "You need to keep your options open."

"That means you don't know," Harry pointed out, labelling one of his bowtruckle's legs with a flourish. "Neither of you has any clue what else I'm to do."

"That doesn't mean you should do this, Harry," Blaise tried to reason. "We've barely been back a week and you've got detention. At this rate, the rest of the year isn't looking good."

* * *

Harry sat down to detention determined to keep silent, if only because he'd promised Pansy and Blaise. That morning, there had been an article in the Prophet announcing Umbridge's promotion to High Inquisitor, and his friends were more determined than ever that he not catch her attention any more than he already had.

It was only lines, after all. It couldn't be too bad, even if the walls were covered with decorative plates with disturbing little kittens prancing around on them.

"Not with your quill," Umbridge told him. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point, and told him to write 'I must not tell lies' until it sunk in.

Harry had several rather rude responses in mind, but managed to keep himself silent and began to write instead.

A searing pain cut through his hand as he wrote the first letters. He gasped and paused, watching the lines of blood fade from his hand. The words appeared in red on the parchment, and Harry stared.

'I must' shone back at him in what was undoubtedly his own blood. Harry watched the blood dry on the parchment, and knew that if he looked up, Umbridge would have something to say. His mouth twisted, and he kept his head down. He traced the letters with care, thinking furiously as he split his own hand open.

This was not keeping his options open. If he had pushed himself into this battle of wills with Umbridge by being an idiot, then silently cutting his own hand open for lines was losing that battle.

He just couldn't think of anything he could do that would let him win.

Harry spent the night Occluding while he wrote, his resentment building with every slice of the quill into his skin. The Occlumency kept the pain manageable, and allowed Harry to focus on thinking of ways out of the situation. He couldn't come up with any, and the knowledge that he was currently helpless only stirred his ire further. Even going to Snape with this issue didn't seem wise, not now that Umbridge was High Inquisitor and had the power to sack any professor at will.

After he was finally let out of detention around midnight with an infuriatingly sweet goodbye from Umbridge, Harry stomped off in the direction of the dungeons, his temper at a boiling point. A loud meow cut off his internal rant, and Harry rounded a corner in time to see Mrs. Norris leaping down from a windowsill.

"Hey," he said ungraciously as the cat wound around his ankles, purring. He slid down into a crouching position against a nearby wall, in order to better waste time petting Mrs. Norris. He really didn't feel prepared to go back to Slytherin and face his friends with his hand still raw and smarting.

"What are you doing out of bed at this hour, Potter?"

Harry glanced up from Mrs. Norris. "Hello, Filch. I had detention with Umbridge. Just got out."

Filch nodded in comprehension. "That's right. She specifically refused to let me take it on."

"Did she?" Harry glared at the floor. "Maybe if you had told her you wanted to string me up by my ankles or something, she would have been more accommodating."

Filch perked up. "Is that so?"

Harry nodded jerkily and showed Filch his hand, explaining about the detention.

"I might go have a talk with this woman," Filch said, rubbing his chin. He looked far too excited for Harry's peace of mind. "It's about time someone brought back the old punishments, if you ask me. Put some murtlap essence on it, boy, it'll be fine."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"And I'll be wanting you to focus on the seventh floor this week," Filch said. "Peeves somehow got hold of a bucket of frog spleen."

The two of them shuddered in tandem. Harry felt a little more calm as he stood and bid Filch goodnight.

When he got back to Slytherin and Pansy asked him how detention had been, he told her he'd had to do lines, and left out any talk of cutting quills or his conversation with Filch.

"Just promise me you won't do anything to get another detention, Harry," she said, taking his hand and fixing him with a worried expression.

Harry managed to avoid calling attention to the raw skin on the back of his hand by not looking at it, and nodded. Like his friends always said, he was a Slytherin. He needed to act like one.

* * *

"Draco, could you tell Pansy that the only way her Vanishing Charm is going to work with that pronunciation is if she's trying to get rid of an etymographer?"

"Draco, could you please tell Blaise that if he has something to say about my charm work, he can come over here and I can practice it on him instead of this mouse? The mouse is unquestionably better company, at any rate."

Harry heard this exchange as he walked down the hallway from his dormitory to the Slytherin common room Sunday afternoon, and didn't so much as pause to glance at his friends as he made a beeline for the exit.

When he reached the library, a quick once over told him that Anthony and Luna were not in residence, and that Hermione had both Dudley and Neville near panic with whatever she was saying. Probably O.W.L. talk then.

Harry turned around and left the library. A quick glance out the window told him that it was unlikely that Hagrid had returned from wherever he'd gone, but then Harry hadn't really expected him back any time soon. Grubbly-Plank seemed to be settling into her position.

He Occluded automatically as a stress headache settled between his eyes. His hand still hurt, which only reminded him again how little he could do about Umbridge, and as he climbed a staircase, a solitary third year nearly toppled over the railing in his haste to get to a different staircase before Harry could come too close.

Harry reached the part of the seventh floor Filch had told him about earlier in the week. He could tell because there was frog spleen everywhere. On the floor and walls, on the portrait frames and the tapestries, and even on the high ceilings. Filch had obviously made progress at cleaning it all up, but only enough that Harry wasn't slipping in the stuff as he walked.

He cast a few perfunctory cleaning charms, cursed Peeves' name, spirit, and general appearance, and slid down a clean patch of wall to sit on the floor, which turned out to still be slick where Filch hadn't expected anyone to walk.

Having stood up and cleaned off his robes as best he could, Harry cast a wide reaching scourigify, hoping to get at least the top layer of the mess off the hallway. It looked marginally better, so Harry called it a day, pacing back and forth to be certain he hadn't missed any particularly offensive patches of spleen and thinking about how much he didn't want to be where he was. He just wanted to hide, really.

On his third turn through the hallway, a door appeared in the wall. Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at it, remembering that Filch had told him once about a rather fickle supply cupboard in this area of the castle. He had found it before, but it didn't look quite the same.

He pulled the door open and poked his head inside.

If this was a supply cupboard, it was very large and strangely stocked, Harry decided. The room was enormous, and filled to the brim with all manner of odd objects: furniture, books, boxes, statues and more were piled haphazardly as far as Harry could see.

Harry lifted the lid of a box that sat on a desk right near the entrance, and found a mystifying assortment of metal blocks. They looked like they fit together in some arrangement, but Harry didn't spend too long fiddling with them. He moved further into the room, avoiding a wobbling mountain of chairs and opening a cupboard to examine the contents.

He felt himself relaxing more and more as he investigated all the strange trinkets the room held. He relaxed even further when he found a solitary, comfortable couch sitting in the middle of an intersection in the mounds of stuff.

He would have to figure out how he'd found it, and come back some time.

* * *

Harry found himself in the library more often this year than any other, and given that he had always used it for socialising with his Gryffindor and Ravenclaw friends in addition to actual work, that was saying something. He might as well bring a pillow with him and sleep in the stacks by this point.

"I think a study group is a great idea," Neville said, scratching the back of his neck. "I need all the help I can get, myself."

Hermione beamed at him. "We'll need to meet somewhere we can practice spells," she said in an undertone. "I've been putting the word out that our first meeting will be in Hogsmeade; maybe someone will have some idea of where we can work. We'll need to be careful not to get caught. Umbridge wouldn't appreciate the implication, I don't think."

Ron grinned. "We could just owl her and explain outright that she's an awful teacher, if you think that'd go over better."

"You don't want detention with that woman, trust me," Harry said. "This is a great idea, Hermione."

"I'm glad you think so, Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward and fixing him with a hopeful smile. "Because I want you to be a big part of it."

Harry lifted an eyebrow and waited.

"I was thinking," she continued, sounding more hesitant now. "You get a lot of private tutoring from Snape, right?"

"Right," Harry said.

"And you're friendly with Professor Lupin, too," she said. "He must still have his lesson plans, don't you think?"

"It's possible," he allowed. "Just spit it out, Hermione."

"I was thinking you and I could sort of run the group together," she said in a rush. "You could write Professor Lupin and ask him for his lesson plans, and combined with the extra reading I've done and the tutoring you get from Snape, we'd be able to get a lot done. Obviously it would be a collaborative sort of group," she continued as Harry stared at her. "The sixth and seventh years especially would probably have a lot to teach. But I thought we could sort of guide it together until it gets off its feet."

Harry frowned. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm not exactly popular this year."

"Oh, but this could help change that, Harry!" Hermione pressed her hands against the table and nodded at him. "If people spent more time around you, they'd get to know the real you instead of the version they read about in the papers."

All his friends were trying to boost his PR, Harry realized. He wondered if Hermione and Pansy had sat down together over the weekend and had a conversation about his abysmal people skills.

Harry shook his head. "Fine," he said, to Hermione's obvious delight. "We can try it. I can't guarantee anything, though."

"I know, Harry," she said, scribbling something down on a sheaf of parchment in front of her. "Will you write to Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, alright," Harry sighed. Hermione beamed.


	55. The Ultimatums

Harry's owl returned from Remus and Sirius in early October with ruffled feathers and a generally disgruntled attitude.

"What happened, Loki?" Harry asked as he smoothed the feathers down and untied a thick scroll from his leg. It was unusual for his owl to deliver post after breakfast, but here he was, sitting on a windowsill and ruffling his feathers at Harry as he walked to Transfiguration.

The owl hooted and shifted irritably on his windowsill, favouring one wing. Harry cast him a concerned glance as he unrolled the parchment and skimmed through an incredibly tedious account of an argument Remus and Sirius had been having about the placement of tomatoes in their new vegetable garden.

Frowning, Harry rifled through the pages, noting that each one detailed another irrelevant story. Remus didn't mention anything Harry had written to him.

A code, then. By the amount of parchment, Remus must have sent the lesson plans. Harry rolled the parchment back up and stuck it in his pocket, turning his attention back to the bird.

"You alright?" he asked, reaching out to examine the wing. Loki hooted and flapped his wings at Harry, then shifted around to face the open window. Harry was stung until he realized that the position gave him a better view of the damage.

A few feathers were broken, but overall it seemed like the wing was alright. Loki seemed more angry than hurt, anyway.

"I'll take you to Grubbly-Plank and have her look at you," Harry decided, but Loki was too quick. With another sharp series of hoots, he took off out the open window, only compensating slightly on the one side.

Harry stared out the window after him, concern and suspicion twisting his insides. Nothing like this had ever happened to Loki before. He pulled himself away from the window and hurried to class, frowning and hoping his owl really was alright.

* * *

Later on that afternoon, Harry found Anthony and Luna at their usual spot, buried in a mountain of books and papers and looking entirely at home. He cleared off a chair and sat down, shifting a stack of books so that he wasn't sitting outside the mountain so much as in an adjacent foothill, with plenty of space of his own to expand.

"Hello, Harry. You're looking well today."

This from Luna, who Harry couldn't actually see. He finally spotted half her face through a gap in the books and grinned at her.

"You too, Luna," he said, leaning back in his seat and feeling his shoulders loosen a bit. "Have you both started the assignment for Charms?"

"I'm working on Potions right now," Anthony piped up from the other side of the table. "Charms is a lunchtime pursuit."

"I do Charms at sunset, myself," Luna acknowledged. "We can work on it together in half an hour or so if you like, Harry."

"Sounds good," Harry said, pulling his bag up from where he'd dropped it on the floor and sorting through it. He could finish his Care of Magical Creatures assignment in a half hour, easy.

The three of them fell into a companionable silence as they worked through the mountains of assigned (and optional) homework their professors had given them for the week.

Deep into an explanation of the sort of differences one could expect between a satyr and a porlock, and how to handle the latter, Harry almost didn't hear the polite cough behind him. He glanced toward the source of the sound and caught sight of blonde hair and a green and silver tie.

Harry repressed the urge to sink down in his seat and instead attempted to project an extraordinary focus on incredibly difficult homework by hunching over it and sticking his nose as far into his book as was still believable.

When the cough came again, Harry darted a glance to the left and saw that the source of the sound was still there. He looked back at his homework and gave up.

"Hi," he muttered, glancing briefly at his once-friend again. Draco looked more uncomfortable than Harry, but there was determination in the set of his shoulders that Harry's own defensive posture lacked.

"May I speak with you?" Draco asked, polite as a stranger. Harry bit his tongue and glared miserably down at his essay.

He didn't have to see the expression on Draco's face to know it was the one that meant he wasn't going to stop until he got his way. It was in his voice, and the brief snatch of body language Harry had caught when he looked over. It would be best to get this over with quickly.

That didn't mean he wanted to, though.

"I'm a bit busy," Harry said, still focusing on his work and ostensibly writing something about hooves. He'd probably have to erase it later. "O.W.L.'s, you know."

Draco hesitated. "It's been over a month since term started."

Harry tapped his quill in a staccato beat against his parchment, wondering what Anthony and Luna must think of this conversation. He could see Luna's forehead through the gap in the books, and she appeared for all intents and purposes to be ignoring them entirely. He couldn't see what Anthony was doing.

"Harry," Draco said, and Harry pushed his chair back abruptly.

"Fine," he said, striding past Draco toward the library doors, refusing to meet his eye. "Five minutes."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Draco said, once they were alone in an empty classroom. Harry paced through the empty desks and turned around in the middle of the room, crossing his arms. He hadn't panicked upon seeing Draco since that day on the train, but he was still a painful reminder of things Harry would rather not think about. As a result, he spent as little time in Draco's presence as possible.

"Okay," he said. Draco blinked.

"Okay?"

"Sure." Harry glanced away. "Can I go now?"

Draco frowned. "Are we alright?"

Harry stared at Draco's tie for a long minute, debating with himself. The truth won out in the end, and he looked Draco in the eye to say it. "Of course we're not. You... why would you even ask that?"

"Because, Harry!" Draco paused and lowered his voice when Harry glared at him. "I spent all summer miserable! My parents don't want me to talk to you anymore, you wouldn't answer my letters, I didn't know if you were okay-"

"Well I wasn't," Harry snapped. "And maybe you should take a hint. Sounds like you're getting enough of them."

Draco clenched his fists at his sides. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've got a choice, Draco," Harry said, glaring at him from behind four rows of desks. "You can be your father's son. You can join Voldemort, get a tattoo." His voice wavered. "Or you can be my friend. You can't do both."

"Of course I don't want to join the Dark Lord!" Draco said, raising his voice again. "I never wanted to!"

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Harry yelled back. "Your father helped kill the Headmaster of Durmstrang! He stood there and told everyone how little use you had for me once you realized I wasn't going to join up!"

"That's not true!"

"How do I know that?"

Draco snarled. "Because we've been friends for years!"

"We haven't been friends for a long time, Draco," Harry said coldly. "I have every reason to doubt anything you say to me after last year."

Draco swallowed and clutched at the strap of his bag, suddenly lost for words. Harry didn't give him a chance to find them.

"Your parents or me, Draco," he said, taking the long way around to the door. "You can't have it both ways."

Draco blinked, his eyes going wide and frantic. "I can't choose between you and my parents!"

"And I can't trust you," Harry said. He felt like his chest might explode if he didn't leave soon. "I don't see how it's a difficult choice."

* * *

Harry regretted the conversation with Draco almost as soon as he was able to think clearly again. He had said some cruel things, and the worst part was that he had no intention of taking any of it back. It was all true.

The weekend was a welcome distraction. Hermione had set up a meeting for people who might be interested in joining their study group, and Harry was hoping it would go well. He was looking forward to getting back to real Defense.

After a few ridiculous suggestions from the Gryffindors about where and when the meeting should be held, it was decided that they would meet on the grounds, on the far side of the lake.

He and Pansy were the only two Slytherins to make an appearance, which wasn't a particular surprise. They walked together, arm in arm, toward the tree under which a large group of students had gathered.

"Look at all those people," Harry muttered under his breath.

They approached the large, chattering group with mild caution. They looked a lot more natural out here on one of the last relatively warm days of the year than they would have in a seedy pub in Hogsmeade. They weren't the only students outside enjoying the weather, and the way that everyone had clumped together in smaller groups made it questionable that they were all even together. Pansy cast an approving eye over the lot of them.

"And she wanted to meet in the Hog's Head," she said scornfully. "We might as well have put up a notice in the Great Hall."

Some of the students had noticed their arrival, and a murmur travelled through the group. Harry tried not to make eye contact with anyone he didn't already know. It was difficult, because they were all looking at him. Pansy put her nose in the air and dragged Harry over to sit with his Gryffindor friends with only a faint sneer.

Dudley, Ron and Neville were all crowded around Hermione. The twins were nearby, and next to them sat a group of students in Gryffindor colours, some of whom Harry vaguely recognised from Quidditch. Johnson, at least, was the new Gryffindor captain.

A smattering of Hufflepuffs sat furthest from Harry and Pansy, none of them pleased to see him if their expressions were anything to go by. Anthony and Luna sat closest to the Gryffindors, and were joined by several other Ravenclaws that Harry didn't necessarily recognise, Quidditch or no. Few of them seemed particularly inviting, though Padma Patil, the pretty Ravenclaw in his year who was sitting with her twin from Gryffindor, gave him hope with her comparatively neutral expression.

Harry thought about smiling at her, but Hermione chose that moment to clear her throat and start the meeting.

"H-hi, everyone," she said, nervous. The chattering died down as everyone shifted around to look at her. "You all know why you're here." She glanced at Harry, whose heart sank very definitively at the look she was giving him. "We had the idea that, that it might be a good idea if people who want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts, I mean, really study it, you know, not that rubbish Umbridge is doing with us-"

Harry listened as Hermione outlined her idea, gaining confidence as her audience proved responsive. And then, she said it.

"Because Lord Voldemort's back."

The response was immediate. Shudders, yelps, even physical recoiling. Harry realized suddenly that every eye was on him, and he turned his head very slowly to find that, yes, Hermione was staring at him too, her expression pleading.

He was going to kill her.

"Well... that's the plan anyway," she continued, still staring earnestly at him despite the fierce glare he was currently subjecting her to. She hadn't mentioned that 'helping with the study group' would mean using him as bait for members. "If you want to join us, we need to decide-"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" This from one of the Hufflepuff boys. Harry took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow at Hermione, maintaining a stubborn silence.

"Dumbledore believes it," Hermione began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"You mean Dumbledore believes that Slytherin over there," the Hufflepuff said, his voice ringing with skepticism. Harry, the Slytherin in question, stared stonily back at him. "I think we have a right to hear the story ourselves if we're being asked to believe it."

Hermione leaned forward. "Look-"

"I'm sorry," Pansy said pleasantly, leaning in front of Harry to get a better view of the Hufflepuff. "I might be mistaken, but I don't believe anyone asked your opinion, Macmillan."

The Hufflepuff, Macmillan apparently, glared at her. "I just think that we have a right-"

"No, you don't have a right," Pansy interrupted. "If Harry wants to tell you about what happened to him outside of the announcement Dumbledore made last year, then that's his privilege. And yours, if he was somehow potions-addled enough to decide to confide in a pompous, nouveau riche prick like yourself."

The expression on her face was one Harry hadn't seen in a long time. Most of his Pansy-instincts were telling him to apologise, back away, and avoid eye contact, but Macmillan wasn't quite that in tune with his self-preservation instincts.

Hufflepuffs.

"Dumbledore didn't tell us anything last year," Macmillan said, ignoring the insults. "Just that he got kidnapped and the Durmstrang headmaster got murdered and he fought You-Know-Who and escaped, which sounds like a load of rubbish to me."

"Right, where's the proof?" One of the Gryffindor boys Harry didn't know very well spoke up before Pansy or Harry could respond, ignoring twin glares from Dudley and Neville. "He told us what Potter told him. How do we know he didn't make it all up?"

"If he's not even willing to give us details, what else are we supposed to believe?" Macmillan's enthusiasm for the argument seemed to lift now that he had a vocal ally.

Pansy's eyes narrowed, but Harry was already too riled up to let that slide.

"He's right here, and I'm not lying," he sneered. "Excuse me for not wanting to go on and on about watching someone get murdered and someone else chop off their own hand and then nearly get killed myself! Anyone who does want to hear about things like that is a morbid git, in my opinion!"

Silence met these words, and Harry took a deep, calming breath. Everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. Macmillan opened his mouth again, but Hermione managed to beat him to it this time.

"Er... so, anyway," she said, trying to recapture the attention of the group. "like I was saying, if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to-"

"If there are going to be Slytherins in the group, then I'm not joining," the Hufflepuff announced, meeting Harry's glare with a foul one of his own. "If we're going to have to keep it a secret, we should be able to trust everyone involved."

There was a murmur of agreement from several other students, and Harry clenched his jaw.

"If you want to-"

"Of course Harry's trustworthy," Anthony said, unintentionally interrupting Pansy. It was probably for the best. She'd looked about ready to rip Macmillan's tongue right out of his mouth. "His House is irrelevant. He has never given any indication of Dark tendencies or even maladaptive social behaviours. Over the course of our friendship, his most pressing motivations have often centred around caring for his friends and family, and he is unusually academically inclined for a non-Ravenclaw." He glanced around at the group and delivered the final blow. "He visited my home over break in third year, and he didn't steal or curse a single thing."

Anthony nodded and leaned back in the grass as though the matter were settled. Harry could personally have done without that last bit, but he was appreciative of the vote of confidence all the same.

"...he's a Parselmouth, though, isn't he?"

"I don't see how that's relevant, considering-" Pansy began, but she was interrupted.

"Right, and isn't his godfather that convict, Sirius Black?" A different Gryffindor from the last time, though he at least quailed under the Weasley twins' disapproval.

"Sirius is innocent, Lee," Hermione said firmly, frowning. "The Wizengamot pardoned him."

More and more of them were muttering amongst themselves, even as those of the group that considered themselves friendly with Harry tried to defend him. Dudley looked ready to hit one of his dormmates. Pansy and Macmillan were sneering insults at each other.

Harry was starting to feel cornered.

"He's a Slytherin, that's proof enough right there-"

Finally, he gave in and stood up.

"You know what?" Harry stood up and brushed off his knees, scowling. Pansy jumped to her feet and glared daggers at the lot of them. "Fine. I won't be in your bloody group, since I'm clearly not welcome."

"Harry!" Hermione stood too. "Of course you're welcome! I have-"

Harry shook his head several times. "I'm not. And I don't want to work with people who are just going to spend all their time glaring at me and asking me questions I'm not going to answer."

He stormed away with what little dignity he had left. Pansy hurried to keep up with him, still spitting mad.

"I'm going to put something in Macmillan's drink at breakfast tomorrow," Pansy said darkly. "He'll think twice before calling me a shrew again."

Harry rubbed his face, miserable. "Just don't kill him. Or get caught, actually."

"Of course not," Pansy said, taking his arm. She glanced back at the sound of footsteps behind them.

"Thanks for the support," she said. Harry looked back as well, and tried to smile as Anthony and Luna caught up with them.

"Simply outrageous," Anthony declared. "Hermione has a lot on her plate with that group."

"We won't be involved, of course," Luna agreed. "The number of wrackspurts they would attract with their small-minded accusations is unthinkable."

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said, sinking down to sit under another tree, much closer to Hogwarts than the one where the other students still gathered. "Thanks, Anthony. I should have known, honestly. Hermione wouldn't have gotten that many people to show up without something more than extra homework to offer."

Pansy knelt down in the grass next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "That cow will pay, Harry, don't worry."

Harry shook his head. "Leave her alone. I want to yell at her myself. It's the rest of them that were really awful, anyway."

"And they'll regret it," Pansy said with conviction. Her retributive form of comfort actually made Harry feel a bit better, against all odds.

The group of them sat together under the tree for another fifteen minutes while Harry tried to pretend he wasn't sulking. Anthony and Luna excused themselves after a little while, and Pansy and Harry stood up to go back inside, uninterested in the nice weather now that the day had been spoiled.

Harry nearly tripped over himself when they passed by the lake just in time to see Padma Patil and her twin sister leaving the meeting, engaged in what looked like intense conversation. Pansy let go of his arm with an amused smile, just in time for Padma to glance up and meet his eye. Her expression had been neutral all through the meeting, but now she gave him a very small, sympathetic smile.

Harry blinked at her and nodded, feeling like an idiot. She looked back at her sister a second later, and Pansy elbowed him gleefully.

"When did that happen, then?" she asked. Harry smiled a little bit, watching the sisters walk away.

"Just now, I guess." He felt a bit lighter, suddenly.

* * *

Snape paced back and forth behind his desk in his office after midnight later on that week. Harry perched in his usual chair and tried to keep his hands from shaking enough to swallow a calming draught.

"Describe this nightmare for me in detail," Snape demanded. Harry looked up and met Snape's eyes, and felt better for it.

"V-voldemort was furious," Harry began tentatively. Snape stopped his pacing and waited. "Quirrell was there. He was mad because Quirrell almost got caught trying to break in somewhere. He... he cursed him with something I didn't recognise."

Snape didn't pursue the foreign magic, to Harry's relief. The results had been gruesome. "Where were they?"

Harry frowned and swallowed. "They were, er, in a room with a fireplace. That huge snake of his was there too. You- why does it matter?"

"I have explained your connection to the Dark Lord in the past," Snape said, resuming his pacing. "My concern is that this is a further display of that connection."

"So... so you think my nightmare was real," Harry asked, horrified when Snape nodded.

"I do," Snape allowed. "We would like for you to avoid the experience in the future."

Harry nodded. He was on board with that plan. "What do I do?"

"We'll discuss it in more detail tomorrow, as it is quite late and you have classes tomorrow," Snape said. "We will build a space in your mind where the Dark Lord's connection can be safely contained, so that if the Dark Lord does attempt to breach your defences, he will find only what you wish to show him."

Harry took a large gulp of his water and tried not to think about Voldemort having what essentially amounted to a guest bedroom inside Harry's head. "Yes, sir."

"Get some sleep, Mr. Potter," Snape said finally, pausing to watch as Harry climbed to his feet. "We will meet tomorrow, at the usual time."

* * *

The next day proved daunting from the moment Harry rolled out of bed and saw that Draco was already headed for the showers. He ended up waiting around for a chance to use the bathroom without having to interact, and missed breakfast as a result.

Hermione was currently trying to figure out a way to work around the newest bit of news from Umbridge, the High Inquisitor. Apparently word had gotten out about the meeting over the weekend, because yesterday morning had brought with it an 'Educational Decree' disbanding all student groups pending the approval of the Inquisitor.

"I don't know who could have said anything," Hermione said for the fourth time as they walked to class together Tuesday morning. "I had everyone sign our paper, even you and Anthony and Pansy and Luna. The four of you were the only ones who got away without signing it at the actual meeting, and none of you would have said anything, of course."

"And the whole point of meeting in the open like that was to be sure you could see everyone who might be listening," Harry agreed. "It's a bit of a trick."

"We'll figure it out," Hermione said. "We just have to find a place to meet where she won't find us."

Harry personally couldn't care less about where a group of people who hated him decided to practice magic, and said so.

"Harry, they don't all hate you," Hermione insisted. "Quite a lot of the people in the group are friends of yours or ours. The rest will come around. You didn't hear what happened after you left."

They'd had this conversation already, the first time Harry yelled at her for what happened at that meeting. According to Hermione, the heated argument that had been going on while Harry sat and listened only got more heated after he left, on both sides.

"Half of them are hardly willing to be within ten feet of me without having their wands out, Hermione. It's nice that my friends haven't turned on me too, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want any part in this group."

Hermione stopped in the middle of the hall and clutched her books to her chest. "Oh, but you promised you'd let us use those lesson plans, Harry!"

Harry thought about telling her to get her own lesson plans, but he could see how much stress the very idea of it was causing her. Hermione hadn't stopped looking harried since they stepped off the train at the beginning of term.

"Still getting in an hour here and there for those naps?" he asked instead. Hermione blinked at him and coloured.

"...not as often as I probably should," she admitted. The chain for her time turner glinted at her collar, and Harry raised his eyebrows. "I've been using them for studying instead."

They started walking again. "You know you shouldn't," Harry said, and relented. "Of course you can still use the lesson plans."

"Thank you so much, Harry!" Hermione said, giving him a quick hug. She let go and paused, looking over his shoulder. "Er, listen, I have to, ah... talk to Professor Babbling before class, okay?"

She smiled at him and dashed off, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway staring after her.

"She looked like she was in an awful hurry." Harry glanced away from Hermione's retreating back and saw that Padma Patil was standing next to him, head tipped slightly to one side as she watched her go.

He nearly dropped his books.

"S-she, yes," he stuttered. "She was, yes."

"Ancient Runes?" she asked, giving him a small smile. Harry nodded, though he managed to make himself stop before he looked too foolish. "We'll be late if we don't get going."

"Right," Harry said, and, incredibly, they fell into step and walked together toward the staircase. Ancient Runes was on the next level, and Harry had never been more grateful for moving staircases than he was right now. The wait gave him a chance to pull himself together and find something to say.

"Do you like Ancient Runes?" he asked, glancing at her and quickly looking away when she noticed. She tucked a silky lock of hair behind her ear and answered.

"Well enough," she said. "I like Arithmancy better, though. Parvati thinks I'm insane, but there you go."

Harry nodded. "Your sister?"

"My twin sister, yes."

The staircase arrived, and they stepped onto it in tandem. Harry struggled to come up with another comment while ignoring the mental war going on in his head because he was talking to Padma Patil and he was going to screw it up and say something stupid, he needed to run away now, but she was looking at him and he had to stay for that.

"We both thought it was horrid, what Ernie said about you," Padma told him halfway up the stairs, which stopped his mental self-beration entirely.

"You did?" Harry's day was suddenly looking a lot better.

"We did," Padma confirmed. "Of course you don't want to talk about what happened. I wouldn't want to either. You looked like a wreck last term."

Harry scrubbed at the back of his neck and looked at her while she adjusted her bag busily. Her cheeks were slightly tinged with pink.

"What I meant," she said after a moment, "Is that I don't think you're a liar at all."

Harry found himself smiling more genuinely than he had in a few weeks. "Thanks," he said. "That's, that really... Thank you."

She nodded at him and gave him a small smile in return as they reached the classroom and parted ways at the door. Hermione was sitting in her usual spot, and gave him a look when he sat down next to her.

"Padma says she believes me," Harry said with a beatific smile. "She likes Arithmancy and she believes me."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione said, and if she looked amused, Harry didn't care.


	56. The Lines

Despite the bright spots in his days that were Padma smiling at him from across a classroom or as they passed in the hallways, the stress of the year was still getting to Harry.

That was the explanation he gave, anyway, when Pansy and Blaise cornered him separately to express their disappointment when he received an entire week's worth of detentions from Umbridge in November. In truth, he found that he just couldn't stand the awful woman, and he couldn't always let her comments slide off his back.

By the end of the week, the back of Harry's hand had stopped healing entirely, and by Friday when Umbridge pronounced the detentions at an end with a satisfied smile, the blood dripped steadily down his fingers. He waited until he'd left her office to stem the flow with a handkerchief, choosing instead to deliberately drip blood onto her rug. It was the little things that got him by this year.

There wasn't going to be any hiding this from his friends anymore, Harry realised as he held his hand under the cold tap in the boy's bathroom and waited for the bleeding to abate. Lines, indeed.

Sure enough, Pansy was less than pleased when Harry came upon her in the Slytherin common room, where she'd been talking with one of the older Slytherin boys. She quickly dismissed him and pulled Harry down onto the couch when she spotted his bloodstained handkerchief.

"She had you carve your own hand open?" she asked, outraged. "How archaic! You have to tell Snape."

"I thought you said I should keep my head down until we know how to handle her," Harry said sullenly as she turned his hand over in hers, examining it from every angle to be certain there wasn't any other damage.

"Yes well, that plan failed." She gave his hand back and frowned at him. "So now we'll have to do damage control, and Professor Snape will know better than we would how we should go about it."

"If he tries anything, she'll just sack him," Harry argued, more out of irritation than anything else. "Head Inquisitor, remember?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Snape is cleverer than that, Harry. He's not going to get himself fired."

Up in the dormitory, Harry found that Blaise had the same advice. The two of them huddled behind the curtains in Harry's bed, Blaise examining him with as much concern as Pansy had not twenty minutes ago.

"We have to tell Snape," Blaise said as he let go of Harry's hand. Harry nodded, leaning back against one of the posts at the foot of his bed. "He'll fix things so that Umbridge doesn't have a leg to stand on, you'll see," he continued. "And he'll have advice for you, too. He's good with things like this, you know that."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. Snape would probably end up finding out anyway. Harry might as well tell him and save himself a lecture on coming to Snape when he had problems. "So... If you don't mind my asking..." Harry paused. Blaise and Pansy hadn't been quite so intolerant of each other recently. Now was a prime opportunity, if ever. "What happened with you and Pansy, anyway?"

Blaise lifted his eyebrows in a parody of shock. "You actually want to know?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Harry," Blaise drawled, settling back on Harry's pillows and stretching out his legs, "That you never showed an interest in our relationship at all. Even when it was a relationship. Pansy and I wondered if you were trying to pretend it wasn't happening for a while, until we remembered you really are just that oblivious."

"I knew you were dating!" Harry said, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and hoping Blaise couldn't see it. The skeptical lift of his eyebrow suggested otherwise, however, and Harry rushed to defend himself. "You'd been dating since at least the Christmas holidays."

"Late November, actually," Blaise said, though he lowered his eyebrow. "Do you know how we started dating?"

Harry faltered. He had thought they'd gotten together at the Yule Ball.

"Didn't think so." Blaise paused, and folded his hands together. "It was an epic story, Harry. It started in the middle and everything."

Harry blinked. Blaise rolled his eyes. Thus prompted, Harry asked, "How did it happen?"

"Bagman called her an ugly cow in my hearing." Blaise grinned a little. "Not in hers, though, else she'd have ripped him to pieces, naturally."

Harry grinned back. "Naturally."

"I don't know why he said it, actually," he paused. "Probably she was being Pansy, you know. It didn't matter at the time. Anyway, I went up to him and made a bet-"

"That's what that was all about?" Harry interrupted, sitting forward. "I remember you did that. Then Pansy made sure he was doomed by making her bet, and-"

"It was our first shared hobby as a couple," Blaise said with a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "We didn't ruin him, you know. He did it to himself, even without our bets. He got in too deep with the goblins."

Harry shook his head, wanting to be shocked but not quite able to muster it. "So what happened?"

Blaise sobered. "Oh, well, the stress of the summer, you know. We had a pretty big argument, and after that, we started owling each other instead of flooing or visiting. It sort of went downhill from there."

Harry nodded, watching Blaise look down at his hands with an unhappy twist to his mouth.

"You're bleeding on your sheets," Blaise said eventually. Harry glanced down and rewrapped his handkerchief more securely around his hand.

"Sorry," Harry said. Blaise shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder.

"They're your sheets," he said, and disappeared through Harry's curtains to his own bed.

* * *

It turned out that Harry got his lecture from Snape anyway.

"Skeeter has been rather restrained in the past few months." Snape noted as he and Harry circled each other in the open space at the front of the professor's desk.

Harry fixed his eyes below the level of Snape's chin, Occluding fiercely. He had to jump quickly in the next second to throw up a shield before Snape's curse hit.

"As it is unlikely she is simply on vacation, or refraining from commenting on the most recent round of speculation about yourself and the headmaster out of the goodness of her heart, I must wonder what has silenced her."

"Well..." Harry said, buying time by cursing the stone under Snape's feet to crumble and scatter in the air in front of his face while he stumbled. He followed that up with a disarming spell, which Snape deflected back at him.

Harry managed to block it in time, and continued. "Maybe she just realized it would be bad for her career."

Snape's eyes narrowed and spelled the chair behind Harry to attack him. "And who in this hypothetical situation of yours helped her to realize that?"

Harry hesitated, and found himself suddenly dangling upside down in the air as Snape advanced on him.

"Blaise and Pansy and I," he admitted, knowing that Snape wouldn't tolerate misdirection just now. Snape blinked at him slowly. "We found out she's an unregistered animagus. She's not going to publish anything for another year."

"Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, watching as Harry struggled to get himself down. It was like Snape was holding the spell in place, so that Harry's attempts at the countercurse had no effect. "When I told you to bring problems to me, what had we just finished speaking about?"

Harry looked up at his feet. It was a strange angle. "We were talking about Skeeter."

"And now you have 'dealt' with her alone once more, against my express wishes. I do not wish to take points from Slytherin, Mr. Potter, but if you continue to make foolish decisions, I will have no choice."

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." He cast around for something to lessen the heavy feeling in his chest. Snape was shockingly good at making him feel guilty about things he hadn't thought twice about doing at the time. "I do have a problem I wanted to talk to you about, actually." He held out his hand where the blood quill had left a raw tracing of his lines. "I don't know what to do about this."

As he explained, Harry felt Snape's hold on the spell ease, and he managed to right himself and sit down in the chair that had been attacking him not ten minutes ago. The duel was over now.

Snape examined Harry's hand with expressionless eyes, and once Harry finished his tale, stood and selected a small bottle from the many that sat on shelves behind his desk.

"That isn't murtlap essence, is it?" Harry asked hopefully. The student stores had been out for the past week, and Harry had really been wanting to try out Filch's suggestion.

"It is," Snape said, looking almost surprised. "Finally doing the extra readings in Potions, Mr. Potter?"

"I've just heard it helps," Harry said hastily. If he said yes, Snape would want to discuss the reading, which was not on Harry's agenda for tonight or any other night when all the professors, Snape included, were assigning so much O.W.L. work already.

Snape handed Harry the bottle and a small cloth to soak in the essence. Harry draped the cloth over his hand and felt the irritation wane immediately. He had nearly stopped noticing it until it was gone.

"Unfortunately, as High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge has unprecedented power here at Hogwarts," Snape said, turning the conversation back to Harry's initial concern. "The wisest course of action at the moment is to avoid angering her entirely." Snape's dark eyes glittered. "Consider it good practice in self restraint and maneuvering."

"At the moment, you said," Harry pointed out hopefully. He didn't think he could handle an entire year of Umbridge calling him a liar without snapping. A single class period was difficult enough. Snape paused.

"At the moment," he agreed. "There will undoubtedly come a time when more outward action should be taken, and we'll be prepared precisely because we did not waste our efforts where they would not be of use. And Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up at the sardonic lilt to Snape's voice.

"Sir?"

"I can promise you that when that time comes, I will let you know. If you do not heed my advice, it will be on your own head."

Harry nodded. He'd begun to understand the difference between times when Snape reading his mind and when he was just being uncanny. This was one of the latter situations.

* * *

The Gryffindor/Slytherin match was always the most competitive of the quidditch season. Harry never quite knew how to deal with the rivalry, since he had friends not only in Gryffindor, but on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as well. Usually, when the Slytherins went down to heckle the Gryffindors at practice, he joined them but kept fairly quiet.

But when they were playing, it didn't matter who they were playing against. Harry played his best every time. In the past, that had been good enough for Flint.

Now that Pucey was captain, of course, he had something to say about it.

"Potter, we're going to win this match today," Pucey said, towering over Harry and glaring down at him.

"Of course we are," Harry said promptly. Pucey's eyes narrowed.

"I don't care if you're a traitor to the House," he said. "You won't be a traitor to this team, or you'll be off it faster than you can say 'accidental' foul."

Harry straightened up and glared right back. "I am not a traitor to the House or the team! I've been flying for Slytherin since my second year, and we haven't once lost to Gryffindor!"

Pucey sneered. "All I'm saying is, make sure that doesn't change, and you and I won't have a problem. And another thing." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Keep your fucking head down, Potter. We don't need our chances ruined because you're in detention with Umbridge during a match."

Pucey turned on his heel and left Harry seething at his locker where he had been strapping on his gear not two minutes prior. The other members of the team ignored Harry as he finished dressing and left the locker room.

It was a good thing being Seeker was a solitary role, Harry thought as he rose above the other players at the whistle. If he'd been a Beater, or, Merlin forbid, a Chaser, they would have lost for sure, because the only person on the team willing to look at Harry without suspicion or irritation was Draco.

At least Fred and George over on the Gryffindor team were willing to give him a grin whenever he happened to cross their paths. Ginny, their little sister, was playing Seeker for their side.

She wasn't half bad, Harry decided as he swooped down on the Snitch with her hot on his heels and snatched it up. She'd probably win against the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Seekers, seeing as how the old ones had been seventh years last year and needed replacing.

His victory was fairly anticlimatic, as he wasn't exactly in the mood for celebrating what with Pucey's anti-pep-talk before the game. Harry landed his broom amidst cheers from the Slytherin stands and dropped the Snitch into Hooch's hands with a brief nod as he passed, headed for the showers and a good sulk.

* * *

Hermione's study group had become a big success. She'd come up with these clever little galleons that gave both the time of the next meeting and the room number of whichever abandoned classroom they were using, which allowed the group to be fairly secretive about their movements and keep under Umbridge's radar.

Harry, of course, wasn't going. He heard about what they'd been practicing when Hermione and the others thought he might be in a good enough mood to hear it, but otherwise he stayed out of it. He was sick of hearing Hermione apologising every other sentence, frankly.

Anthony and Luna had actually refused to join the group in protest. Harry thought they might be his heroes for it, and told them so.

"As long as we have your lesson plans, Harry, we don't really need the group," Anthony explained. "It'd be nice, you understand, but not necessary. We can practice together."

"We can," Luna agreed. "Though we should be careful to meet irregularly, or Professor Umbridge might find out and set the Ministry heliopaths on us."

Harry nodded and watched absently as Anthony jotted down her words on a bit of parchment, which he stuck in his pocket.

They were actually outside. Harry had discovered a written version of Anthony's personal O.W.L. schedule in the back of one of his books, and was delighted to find that it accounted for a twenty minute study break right before dinner every Tuesday and Thursday. He took shameless advantage and suggested a walk around the lake. Once Anthony had been roped into going, it took very little to convince Luna to join them. On Thursday, he planned to take them to the Quidditch pitch.

"Oh look, the thestrals are out. Has anyone got any raw meat?"

Harry looked where Luna was pointing and saw several of the skeletal horses grazing near the edge of the forest.

It was good to know he wasn't the only one who could see them. Several of his other friends had given him funny looks for mentioning them already.

"Yes, Luna, Harry and I carry raw meat with us at all times," Anthony said with a small smile. "We are prepared for any and every eventuality."

"Speak for yourself," Harry said. "I'm not the one who has a minute to minute daily schedule. I can go to the bathroom at any time, day or night. I don't have to wait until six forty five like some people I know."

"Harry, I told you, it's a shifting schedule," Anthony said patiently. "That's why things move, you see? It just helps to ensure that I use my time efficiently."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavily marked sheet of parchment that comprised his weekly schedule, and the three of them paused near a copse of trees as Anthony demonstrated the malleability of his routine.

"You see, if I find that I need more time to work on Potions on Wednesday, then I can just move some of my Potions time from Thursday, and on Thursday, I'll be sure to complete the unused Transfiguration minutes."

He used his wand to move the little blocks of minutes around on the parchment to demonstrate just that.

"Okay," Harry said, fascinated. He pulled out his wand. "I had actually wondered about that. So, if I take this free time from Monday morning and replace it with... hmm... Wednesday's dinner, and then use that time for Charms, then you and I have enough time on Thursday to have a pickup match!"

Anthony stared at his newly organised schedule. "Harry, I can't eat Wednesday's dinner at seven am on Monday morning."

Harry glanced at Luna, who was examining the schedule as well. "Of course you can't, Anthony," she said, lifting her own wand. "Instead, you move Wednesday's dinner to Tuesday night, and eat both dinners then. You can make inquiries with the house elves. From there, you can use your Monday morning for multiple bathroom breaks, and look! That's another twenty minutes for Harry's quidditch."

Harry and Luna beamed at each other, then at Anthony. He did not share in their amusement. "I deplore you both," he said, poking at his ruined schedule. "You're lucky I have another copy of this."

"About that," Harry said, and pulled from his pocket the copy he had discovered in the back of Anthony's schoolbook. Anthony's eyes went wide, and he reached for it. Harry backed away and grinned at him.

"You don't get enough exercise, Anthony!" Harry said, and began to jog backward away from him and Luna. Anthony followed unwillingly.

"If I run in a few circles, will you give it back?" he asked. Harry feigned a moment of serious thought, and while he wasn't paying attention, Anthony tackled him.

"Hey!" Harry shouted as Anthony plucked the schedule neatly from his hands and settled down comfortably on Harry's upper back to put it away. Luna appeared and sat down in front of Harry's head as he tried unsuccessfully to find the leverage needed to push Anthony off.

"Since when does Anthony tackle people?" Harry asked Luna. He still hadn't quite processed the fact that Anthony was sitting on him. She shrugged.

"We read Machiavelli a few weeks ago," she said, as though that explained everything.

"It was a preemptive strike, Harry," Anthony agreed from where he sat. "One you were woefully underprepared for."

"I'll get you next time," Harry grumbled, settling his chin on his arms and wondering if he could catch Anthony off guard right now. Probably not, since they'd just been talking about being unprepared.

"I'm sure you will, Harry," Luna said. She even patted him on the head.

* * *

Harry didn't know how Draco had been doing since they'd last spoken, aside from the little updates that Pansy insisted on dropping into conversation, like 'Draco's been writing to his parents more often than usual', and 'Draco has been looking ill recently.'

So one morning, when Harry finished knotting his tie and turned away from his wardrobe to find Draco standing awkwardly by the door, the first thought he had was that Pansy had been right. Draco wasn't looking well at all. His second thought was less a thought and more of a sinking feeling.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked, shifting to put one shoulder in front of the door. Harry crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"What do we have to talk about?" he asked. Draco cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he began, crossing his arms as well. "And I had an idea."

Harry waited in silence.

"I want you to tell me what I can do to make you less angry with me," Draco continued, looking anywhere but at Harry, which meant that he missed the way Harry frowned at him.

"I'm not angry at you." Draco glanced up and lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I am. But that's not the problem. I just don't want to be friends anymore, that's all."

Draco's arms dropped to his sides, and his mouth fell open. "Why not? I'll fix it, I promise!"

"How are you supposed to fix it? Your father-"

"Stop bringing up my bloody father!"

"He's half the problem, Draco!" Harry yelled, letting his bag fall next to his feet with a thump. "No, he's the entire problem! I understand that he's your dad, but you can't do the things he wants you to do and still expect me to want to be your friend! He would have killed me if he had the chance!"

"I don't want to join the Dark Lord," Draco said firmly, looking Harry straight in the eye. "I told my father that. I've told him a dozen times already."

"And he keeps asking, doesn't he?"

"And I keep saying no!"

"Must not be a very clear 'no'," Harry pointed out. "If he keeps asking."

Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Eventually he found something to say. "I can't choose between you and my parents. My mother has nothing to do with this."

The miserable expression Draco was wearing finally made Harry relent, just a little. "Then I'm not talking about her," he said. "I'm talking about you expecting us to still be okay when you're siding with people who tried to kill me, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "But I'm not."

"I'd say 'prove it', but I don't know how I'd ask you to," Harry said. He glanced at his watch. "Breakfast is nearly over."

He waited until Draco stepped out of the way to cross to the door and leave. Pansy and Blaise were waiting down in the common room, and when they saw his face, Blaise followed him out into the hall and let him have his silence for the entire walk to Transfiguration.

* * *

_A/N: Enjoy! Thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys are wonderful people._


	57. The Room

It was still only November, but Harry was already looking forward to the winter holidays. He had every intention of getting as far away from Hogwarts as possible, and Sirius and Remus had accommodated his plans by inviting him to spend Christmas with them in Devon.

Until then, Harry did what he could to avoid the giant ball of stress that his friends and classes had become. He spent a lot of time finishing homework on his own, cleaning for Filch, and trying to find that storage room on the seventh floor again, where he'd at least been able to sit down and relax without the glares of half the school on him.

He'd long since finished cleaning up Peeves's mess in the hall that he'd found the room in, across from a tapestry of trolls attempting ballet, but he continued to loiter there sometimes, trying to work out the trick that would let him get in. The Maurader's Map was no help; either they hadn't discovered this room, or they just hadn't felt the need to provide any hints. Harry wasn't asking. He liked the idea of figuring it out on his own.

Though he wasn't a pacer by nature, Harry decided he had to do something to express his annoyance with the process. He'd examined every square inch of the wall in that hallway, and even parts of the floor. He'd asked the trolls, who were very put out when he interrupted their practice. Some of the threatening gestures they'd made would have alarmed Harry had they been actual, full sized trolls.

So Harry paced. He grumbled, too, while he was at it, and even left the corridor entirely, peering out a nearby window. He didn't think any of it would help, honestly, especially not the window. He was just frustrated.

When he came back and the door was there, he brightened and pulled it open. It was the same storage room as before, and Harry grinned stupidly at the piles and piles of stuff until it occurred to him that he still had no idea how he'd made it appear.

"Bugger," he muttered, and went inside anyway.

He poked around for a while, amusing himself by digging through boxes, smirking at old robes and, in the case of one cabinet, shielding his face as an avalanche of old quills showered him like a particularly pointy exploded down pillow.

Harry found a mountain of desks that was nearly as tall as the stacks and stacks of chairs near the door. This was more sturdy, though, and there was an interesting purple something about halfway up the pile, so Harry climbed.

It was a stuffed dragon, old and dusty, with some of the batting poking out. It stared up at him with a woeful expression and flapped its wings pitifully. Harry tried not to appear visibly amused since that seemed rude somehow, but he did cast a charm to fix the hole in its left wing. He'd never seen a wizarding stuffed animal before.

Back down on ground level, Harry wandered through the maze of old, abandoned stuff until he found the door again. He wanted to figure out how he'd managed to find the entrance so that he could come back.

* * *

It turned out that the window had nothing to do with getting inside the room, which was a pity, as that seemed like a particularly easy way to go about things. From what Harry could tell, it was actually the pacing that had done it. That and glaring at the space where the door was supposed to be.

The glaring probably wasn't necessary, but Harry didn't know that for sure as he hadn't yet managed to get the door to appear without it. He figured there was nothing wrong with playing it safe.

Now that he knew how to get the door to appear on command, Harry wanted to show someone else. It was a fascinating discovery, after all, and he knew several of his friends would be interested.

Except, he didn't know who to invite.

Hermione was out. She talked about that study group of hers enough that Harry wasn't predisposed to show her the room. She might want the group to meet there, and then Harry would never be able to use it. He'd found it, not them, and they weren't going to oust him.

Speaking with Dudley was either infuriating or depressing, depending on the day, and Harry didn't really want to deal with it right now. The same went for Neville and his intermittent Hermione-induced panic attacks over the O.W.L.'s.

His Slytherin friends were little better. Pansy and Blaise were less likely to garotte each other in the hallway recently, but things were still stilted and awkward there, and Harry didn't want to be seen as choosing sides if he showed one of them and not the other.

Anthony and Luna were still faithfully spending most of their time on homework, but they were at least bearable to be around during their breaks.

In fact, they could probably be convinced to take one soon, if Harry made a sufficiently tempting offer.

Harry set off for the library in a better mood than he'd been in for a few days. When he got there, he deftly avoided the Gryffindor table by taking a detour through the Divination section, which Hermione never bothered to use, and which led right to Anthony and Luna's usual table.

It was shockingly empty. Harry checked his watch, and tried in vain to remember what it was Anthony usually did on Wednesdays at four thirty. He knew it wasn't a study break, but it could very well be Potions or Defense, neither of which he worked on in the library.

"If you're looking for Anthony Goldstein, he's in the common room. I saw him on my way out."

Harry looked up at the voice, which turned out to belong to Padma Patil. He blushed and mentally groped around for something to say.

"T-that's unusual," he said finally, readjusting his bag.

Padma shrugged and stepped around the table, holding a pile of Charms books against her chest.

"He needed to use one of our reference books," she explained. "They're charmed so they can't leave the Tower."

"Oh," Harry said, nodding and mentally berating himself. What kind of response was 'oh'?

Padma didn't seem bothered. "Did you need him for anything in particular?"

"Oh, I, er..." Harry pulled himself together. "I just wanted to show him something interesting I'd found, that's all. Get him out of the library."

"A noble, if foolish pursuit," she said. Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he nodded again. He felt like he might be acting like an idiot. "We can go get him, if you like," she offered, and it took Harry a second to realize what she was suggesting.

"Up in Ravenclaw Tower?" he asked. "Yeah, that's- if you don't mind, sure. Thanks!"

Harry waited while Padma checked out her books out and packed up her satchel, and they left the library together. He tried to surreptitiously dry his hands, which were sweaty, and check that his hair wasn't too messy in a window as they passed. It was a lost cause, as usual.

They walked in silence for nearly two floors, until Padma gave Harry a small smile and took pity on him. "Have you started that translation for Babbling, yet?"

"I haven't finished it, if that's what you're asking," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I got the first two pages done yesterday."

She waited with raised eyebrows, and Harry shook his head. "It was kind of gruesome, wasn't it?"

Padma gave him an actual smile for that. "It was. Wait until you get to page five. They order the infidels to the breaking wheel."

Harry made a face. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You should be." Padma shifted her bag on her shoulder. It was stuffed full of books.

"D'you... do you want me to carry that for you?" Harry asked, gesturing at her bag. Padma looked down at it, then back up at him.

"No, I've got it," she said, and she looked amused. "You're not as evil as everyone says you are, Potter."

"Er, t-thanks," he stuttered.

She watched him for a moment longer. "You're only a little bit evil, I think."

Harry had no idea what to say to that, or the smile that came with it. Fortunately, they reached the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower soon after, and she left him in the hall to go find Anthony.

Harry let out a long breath as he waited. Had that gone well? He hoped it had. What did she mean by 'only a little bit evil'? He'd have to ask someone. Pansy? Hermione? ...Anthony? He was in over his head.

* * *

"So what did you want to show me that was important enough to move my study break up to right now, Harry?"

"Quiet, Anthony, we're nearly there."

"Well, you have twelve more minutes."

Harry grabbed Anthony's wrist and picked up the pace. "We had better hurry, then, hadn't we?"

They reached the storage room in record time, and Harry managed to make the door appear with little fuss.

"Now come in here and tell me you're not impressed," Harry said, throwing the door open and standing aside so that Anthony could see.

Anthony tipped his head on one side and stepped inside, gazing around at all the junk that filled the room to the brim.

"Huh," he said, picking up a partially melted shield that looked like it belonged to one of the suits of armour. "Look what you found."

Harry grinned and followed him, pointing out a pile of broken sneakoscopes as they passed. "Isn't this brilliant?"

"Is everything broken in here, do you think?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "A lot of it just looks like it hasn't been used in a long time."

Anthony frowned over a pile of unidentifiable bits of wood. "Fascinating."

They spent much longer than twelve minutes exploring the storage room, which Harry counted as a victory. Anything he could do to usurp time better spent studying was a success, in his opinion.

Anthony was examining a piece of jewelry with more interest than Harry thought was entirely necessary from a bloke who didn't have a girlfriend when Harry encountered another cabinet, contents of which cascaded down on him with a soft thump.

"Anthony! Come here!"

Anthony took his time in detouring around a statue of an elephant with a tusk missing, and snickered when he finally saw exactly what had come exploding out of the cabinet.

"Do you need help extricating yourself from those socks, Harry?" he asked courteously. Harry kicked through the knee deep pile to open ground and rolled his eyes, pulling one off his shoulder and tossing it in the pile.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you," he said. "How did that many socks fit in such a small cupboard, d'you think?"

"Magic," Anthony suggested. "And anyway, I found something much more interesting: look."

He held up the bit of jewelry he'd been examining earlier. It was old and delicate looking, and Harry didn't see what was so interesting about it.

"Very nice, I guess?" he said, perplexed.

"It looks like..." he paused. "I'd have to do some research. Do you think I can take this?"

"Who would care?" Harry asked, shrugging. "I don't think Filch is actually aware this room exists."

Anthony nodded, head still bent over the jewelry, turning it over and over in his hands. "Good, good. I should get back to the Tower, Harry. It's been over an hour. I'm well behind schedule."

They walked out together. After he'd dropped Anthony off, Harry figured he might as well go down to the library and talk to the Gryffindors if they were there. He had nothing else to do, apart from homework. He needed a break from it for today, though.

* * *

Harry snuck up on the Gryffindors, just to see if he could. Dudley and Neville were hard at work, scribbling away at parchment and referencing from the same book occasionally. Hermione's stack of parchment was thicker, as were her books, but she was tapping her quill on the table and looked about ready to pass out.

"A nap sounds good right about now, doesn't it?"

Harry dropped into a seat right next to hers and gave her a quick grin. She blinked at him.

"Who has time for a nap these days?" Dudley grumbled. Harry lifted an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Who indeed?"

She went slightly pink and looked away.

"I have to finish this essay," she said instead, her quill making a steady tap-tap-tap noise on the desk. "And after that, the diagram for Care of Magical Creatures, and after that-"

"A nap to keep you from going insane," Harry said, plucking the quill neatly from her hands. "Or at least a break. Come on, Hermione. Even Anthony isn't as bad as all this. He took an entire hour to relax today."

"I like Harry's idea," Neville said, tossing his quill down and leaning back in his chair. "I can't read another word about Colour Changing Charms."

Dudley glanced up from his own work when Neville threw his quill, and grinned at Harry. "Hello. When did you show up?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Just now. I'm instituting a mandatory break."

"What I want to know," Hermione interjected, "Is how you'll get all your homework finished today if you're going around forcing everyone else to take breaks."

"I'm not forcing anyone," Harry said, tilting back in his chair. "Anthony has a schedule. He's very devoted to it. He certainly wouldn't let the likes of me come between them. Which reminds me." He let his chair fall forward and crossed his arms on the table. "What does it mean if a girl tells you you're 'only a little bit evil'?"

Hermione smirked at him and glanced over at Neville and Dudley, who looked intrigued.

"Explain yourself, Harry," Neville demanded. He and Dudley both leaned forward and waited with expectant expressions.

"Padma and I were talking earlier," Harry said, starting to blush as the three of them made various faces. Dudley's waggling eyebrows were what really did it. "Stop that! Like I said, we were talking, and she said I'm not as evil as everyone says I am, and then she said, 'you're only a little bit evil'."

He looked at Hermione, pointedly ignoring the suggestions from the two snickering boys on the other side of the table.

"It means she likes you," Hermione told him. "Good for you, Harry."

"I hoped so." Harry scrunched up his forehead. "But... how does that translate, again?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's flirting. I've seen you do it before, you must know how it works."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "I don't flirt. When do I flirt?"

"I've seen you flirt with Luna," Hermione's expression was far too smug. "And you've flirted with Pansy loads of times."

"Harry Potter, you're a slag!" Dudley exclaimed gleefully. Harry flushed crimson.

"Dudley! Don't just say things like that in the library!" he hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"Dudley's just feeling a bit punchy because he didn't sleep at all last night, did you Dudley?" Hermione frowned over the table at him, radiating disapproval. "Neither did Neville or Ron."

"Neither did you," Dudley accused. "You were up all night working on tomorrow's meeting."

"I slept," Hermione said primly. "Just not as much as usual. The three of you were up all night for no reason at all."

"We were working on a Divination project," Neville said. Hermione snorted, and he ignored her with dignity. "We were reading the cards and doing our dream diaries."

"You were playing Exploding Snap," Hermione pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure you have to sleep before you can have dreams for your diaries."

While Neville and Hermione bickered good naturedly, Dudley leaned across the table. "I meant to ask, Harry," he said with cheer. "Are you planning to come back home for the winter holiday?"

Harry felt his good mood drain out of him like a plug had been pulled. "Oh," he said. "Well, I was going to visit Sirius and Remus," Dudley waited, eyebrows lifted very slightly and a hopeful expression on his face. "...but I could probably come for the last week or so, if you want."

The words came out of his mouth without his permission, and Harry forced a smile when Dudley grinned at him. "Great! I'll write to mum and dad this week and let them know."

Harry left the library not long after, cursing himself up and down. He couldn't go. But he couldn't not go. What if Aunt Petunia couldn't keep up the act? What if she left again, or worse, what if she let on how she really felt? He couldn't leave Dudley to deal with the fallout on his own. He had to go.

* * *

"Our Skiving Snackboxes are nearly ready for mass consumption," Fred declared, whipping a small sheet off a row of neatly organized sweets. Harry peered down at them, curious.

"These are the ones that make you vomit or faint?"

"No, those are the Puking Pastilles," George said, pointing from one sweet to another. "Those are the Fainting Fancies."

"And those are Nosebleed Nougats and Fever Fudge," Fred said, poking his own finger at the two multicoloured candies Harry had been examining. "We've almost got all the kinks worked out of those."

"The Weasley's Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs and the Portable Swamps are finally finished, though," George said, revealing another row of products on the next desk over with a flourish.

"And our Canary Cremes and Ton Tongue Toffees have been on the market for ages, as well as the fake wands and the the Extendable Ears."

"We're already doing a reasonable amount of business by owl order," George added, handing Harry a stack of parchment filled with numbers and columns. Harry blinked and flipped through it. He didn't quite follow all the columns, but the numbers were fairly large and only one or two of them were in red, so that seemed good. "The only thing holding us back right now is product testing on the Snackboxes."

Harry frowned, leaning back against a desk. "Is it just a slow process, or...?"

The twins exchanged a dark glance. "You could say that," Fred said. "Or you could say your prefect friend is giving us a bit of difficulty."

Harry bit back a smile. "Hermione? I'm surprised I haven't heard about it already, if that's the case. She wasn't pleased when I decided to help the two of you."

"Well, that's your assignment for tonight, boss," George said, waving his hands at Harry. "You've backed our venture, now go do what you need to do to get your investment off the ground."

"She's not going to give in just because I ask her to," Harry pointed out reasonably. The twins rolled their eyes in tandem.

"Go be Slytherin at her or something," Fred said, making shooing motions. "Whatever that means. We won't ask."

Harry very carefully decided not to wonder what they might think that meant. "Look, if you want to convince Hermione to leave you alone, you want to make it seem like everything is by the book."

"We pay them," George pointed out.

"Real galleons and everything," Fred agreed. "How much more 'by the book' does it get?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Write up some kind of paperwork for them to sign, something you can show her. She'd buy that."

"Maybe a consent form?"

The twins grinned at each other. "And it can have small print-"

"- and subsections-"

"And completely absolve us of any responsibility for any injuries or painful vomiting caused by our products!"

"Brilliant idea, boss!" Fred said with a grin. "We knew there was a reason we brought you on board."

"Aside from all the galleons I gave you?" Harry reminded them. They beamed and patted him on the shoulder, unconcerned.

"That too, of course."

* * *

_AN: Thank you so much for all the reviews! _


	58. The Awkward

With the Christmas holiday approaching, Harry's schedule only became more hectic. There was no more time for random study breaks; between Pucey's 'keeping up with the Gryffindors' winter Quidditch practices and Snape's lessons and Umbridge's detentions, Harry hardly had time to go to classes, let alone avoid his homework.

His legilimency lessons were going well, at least. He'd managed to build the mind space Snape had suggested, and spent twenty minutes every morning maintaining the thoughts and memories that wallpapered the boundaries and floated thick in apparently vulnerable invitation. He hadn't had another nightmare since the first.

Detentions with Umbridge hadn't been nearly so much a success, in that he was avoiding them by the skin of his teeth these days. Her reasons for issuing them were becoming thinner and thinner. When Hagrid finally came back, she sat in on his class and gave Harry detention for what amounted to dropping his book. It came to the point where not one of his friends had bothered to use the phrase 'keep your head down' in a few weeks.

The brightest spot in the last few weeks of classes before break was the day Blaise showed up to the Great Hall for lunch with a girl.

Harry spotted them first, and frowned. Normally he'd lean over and ask Pansy who she was, but Blaise and this girl were walking way too close and smiling at each other way too much. Harry wasn't that tactless. He glanced around. Theo was sitting closest to him, and Harry wasn't about to have a conversation about Blaise's new girlfriend with him. Theo didn't like Harry and had never made a mystery of it. They usually just avoided each other.

"You're pathetic, Harry." Pansy dropped into the empty seat next to him and reached for the juice. "You're practically radiating 'helpless socially awkward prat' over here."

Harry glared. "What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything."

"Harry Potter, I am going to read your mind." Pansy glanced at Blaise, who was standing near the Ravenclaw table saying goodbye to his girl, then put on an insultingly high pitched voice and began: "'Oh Blaise met someone. Who is she? I don't know, for I am a socially oblivious caterpillar.' Your head turns. 'Oh no, I can't ask Pansy! Conflict and tears may follow! And I have no one else in Slytherin, for I am, as I said, an oblivious caterpillar who has only two friends. Oh, there's Theo: yuck. What do I do?'"

She waved her hands like a flightless bird through most of this narrative, which had Harry covering his mouth to try to hide his embarrassed laughter.

"I've got plenty of friends!" Harry said, his voice muffled through his hands.

"How did I do? Outstanding? Exceeds Expectations?"

"You're not even taking the Divination O.W.L."

"I'm too good for Trelawney," she declared. "And anyway, your face was an open book." She sobered as she glanced at Blaise, who was heading for their table. "You should know Blaise and I are mostly done fighting. Sorry about the past few months."

"You're okay with him going out with-?"

"Her name is Lisa Turpin," Pansy said. "And yes, it's fine. Lisa's boring. I'm definitely the better catch." She flashed a grin at Harry and lowered her voice as Blaise came closer. "And anyway, I've got Miles."

Blaise sat down across from Harry and greeted the both of them cordially. Pansy responded, and if the two of them were a little too cheerful about it all, Harry certainly wasn't going to say anything. This was more than he could have dreamed of even last week. His friends were speaking to each other again. As for Miles Bletchely, Slytherin Keeper, he tended to ignore Harry rather than glare at him, and Harry wasn't stupid enough to bring him up in front of Blaise before he knew Blaise's opinion on the whole situation.

He wasn't actually a socially oblivious anything, no matter how Pansy liked to pick on him.

* * *

As though to put his confidence in his social abilities to the test, Harry ran into Padma the day before break. All any of them had left to do at the moment were the assignments they'd been given to work on over the holidays, and Harry didn't want to see the inside of the library again until at least January. He didn't even want to look at his school books until after Christmas, though he'd probably get a scolding from Hermione if she caught wind of his plans.

As such, Harry was wandering the drafty corridors and wishing there were more fireplaces in the Slytherin common room. All the warm spots had been taken up by sixth and seventh year Slytherins who didn't like him. It was chilly in the dungeons during the winter at the best of times, and Harry felt he was better served being cold somewhere where he wouldn't also feel hated.

It was a lucky thing, too. He met Padma near the Owlery, walking down a narrow flight of stairs.

"Oh, hello," she said. "I wondered if I would get a chance to wish you a good break."

Harry managed to respond without too much trouble. "I hope you have a good break, too," he said. "Are you going home?"

"We are," she said, and glanced behind her. "Are you headed anywhere in particular?"

"Oh, er, not really," Harry turned faintly red and stepped out of her way. "I was just walking."

"Good, then you can walk with me," she said, and continued down the steps toward him with a small smile. Harry tried his best not to turn bright red and nodded.

"Where are you going?" he asked as they fell into step next to each other, Harry concentrating predominantly on not tripping over his own feet and not staring at her too much.

"I'm just walking, like you," she said with a shrug. "Where will you be staying for your holiday?"

"I'm going to visit my godfather, and then I'll be staying with family," Harry said, resigned.

Padma raised her eyebrows. "You don't sound particularly excited, if you don't mind my saying."

"I'm not really looking forward to the last bit," Harry admitted. "It's not a big deal, though. What will you be doing?"

"Parvati and I are going to our parent's house," Padma said, guiding them onto a staircase as it passed. "We usually visit our aunt and uncle in Birmingham at some point, as well."

"Do you like Birmingham?" Harry asked. She looked amused.

"I do," she said. "Are you going to visit any of your friends at all?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't have any plans to. Pansy and Blaise have only just stopped fighting, and Anthony or Hermione would make me study with them."

"Blaise Zabini?" she asked, pushing her hair back. "I think he and Lisa are dating, aren't they?"

Harry nodded. "That's what he told me."

Padma nodded back, blinking at him. "Lisa says he's very charming."

"I guess, sure," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's a good guy."

"We should all do something together in January, when we get back," she continued, still watching him. "If you want to, I mean."

Harry's mind went blank for a full second. He opened his mouth and words fell out. "I, er, I mean, yeah. We should, definitely." He cleared his throat. "In January."

"Great!" She smiled at the hallway in front of them and adjusted the bag she was carrying. "We'll do that, then."

* * *

When Harry returned to his dormitory later that afternoon, he was in such high spirits that even Draco's appearance in the doorway didn't phase him.

Neither of them said anything to the other at first. Harry was sifting through his things, deciding what to bring with him for the holiday and occasionally smiling at his socks or his robes. Draco stopped in front of Blaise's four poster and frowned at it. After a long minute, he huffed out a sigh and spoke without looking at Harry.

"Do you know which hex Blaise has on his nightstand? I can't remember if he's up to _barricus _or _obruo_."

Harry blinked and glanced up from his sorting, but Draco apparently had no intention of turning around. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Blaise was fairly predictable in his choice of hexes to ward his things. He liked to spell out foul words with the first letter of each new spell, and it was easy to guess which he would use next if you paid attention.

"I'm pretty sure it's _lingaugeo _now," Harry said. "Theo tripped it on Thursday, and got hit in the head with... everything."

Draco shook his head. "I rather thought he'd go with _lapidosus._"

"No, he and Pansy are talking again as of last week," Harry reported, and felt even more cheerful at the very thought. "He's in a much better mood lately, haven't you noticed?"

"Oh." Draco paused. "Thank bloody Merlin for that. Now I can start using the common room again."

The conversation ended with Draco apparently throwing caution to the wind now that he knew he wasn't likely to be stoned, and spelling open the top drawer of Blaise's nightstand. Harry turned back to his packing and listened to Draco trying to pronounce the counterspell with a tongue three times its usual size. It was the friendliest conversation they'd had in over a year, and he felt a vivid, hollow ache in his chest at the thought.

* * *

Harry was greeted at the train station by Remus and a large black dog, who leapt up and woofed in Harry's face.

Harry laughed and leaned away from the dog breath and drool. "Is there any reason you decided to come as a dog?" he asked as Sirius dropped back down to all fours and barked again.

"Not that I'm aware of," Remus interjected, a small, restrained smile playing about his mouth. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a leash. "I think he just likes wearing this."

All the fur on Sirius' back stood up when he saw the leash, and he growled at Remus before racing off into the crowd. Harry stared after him, but Remus chose instead to shrug innocently and sling Harry's bag over his shoulder. When they reached the apparition point, Sirius was holding a place in line on two human feet, though he still looked like he might want to growl.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded when Remus moved into earshot. "I thought I burned all your damn leashes."

Remus grinned and stuffed the leash back in his pocket. "I have my ways."

Sirius gave him a gimlet eye and then turned very deliberately to Harry. "Hey, kid, how have you been?"

"Alright," Harry said as Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders in preparation for their departure. "You?"

"I was doing great a minute ago," Sirius said, and cast another dark glare at Remus' pockets. After the three of them disapparated, Sirius turned on Remus and said, "You can't have gotten it from Diagon Alley. I bribed Gladys at the Menagerie."

"You didn't say a word to Duncan Eeylops."

Harry looked around and realised they were at Sirius and Remus's house. Or, to be more accurate, they were standing in front of the sapling that served as an entrance. It was getting taller. Harry wrapped his hand around the trunk and waited.

"He sells owls! As far as I'm aware, you don't put a leash on an owl!"

"Well, no," Remus allowed. "But he used to own a crup."

Sirius wrapped his own hand around the sapling as though he'd much rather be wrapping it around Remus's neck. "I'll get you," he promised. "Harry and I will get you back while he's here, won't we, Harry?"

Remus took hold of one of the smaller branches and spoke the password. As the house grew around them, he shook his head at Harry. "There's no need to take sides," he said. "And anyway, I sent you those lesson plans back in October, didn't I, Harry? What has Sirius done for you lately?"

"Oh right," Sirius said, and he and Remus both gave Harry their full attention. "How did your defense group turn out? You never said."

Harry frowned. "I expect they're doing well. I wouldn't know."

"What happened?"

Sirius and Remus's house surrounded them, tall and transparent. The snow reflected sunshine off the glass, and inside it looked warm and comfortable. Thick floor to ceiling curtains had been added to several of the rooms since Harry's last visit, though they were all currently pulled back to let the light in.

They left the courtyard by way of the kitchen as Harry explained his falling out with Hermione's group. Remus put the kettle on.

"You're still letting them use the lesson plans?" Sirius said with outrage when Harry finished.

"I'm letting Hermione use them," Harry said. He was weary of this conversation already. He'd had it a thousand times with Blaise and Pansy. "She's the one who would spend all her time coming up with new ones if I hadn't. None of them would suffer for it."

Fortunately, Remus and Sirius were Gryffindors and also didn't know how Hermione had framed the first meeting to all the potential members. Otherwise, the argument really would have become the same exact one he had with Blaise and Pansy. Their next line was usually 'Let her suffer, she's a bint!' Never mind that Harry had forgiven her already.

Instead, Remus handed him a mug of hot chocolate and said, "That's very mature of you, Harry."

Harry looked down at his chocolate. "Thank you."

Sirius grimaced, but changed the subject anyway. "What else have you been up to?"

Harry wracked his brain for something pleasant to talk about. There wasn't much. He wilted somewhat as he realised what a truly awful term he'd just experienced.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not failing any classes," he said. Remus's eyebrows shot up, and Harry hurried to continue before he could ask which were uncertain. "And I met a girl."

Sirius leaned forward with interest. "A girl? Out with it, Harry! Who is she?"

Harry flushed at the scrutiny, but explained about Padma and how she had said they should do something after break.

"You've come to the right place for advice," Sirius said. Remus snorted.

"Sirius never had a single relationship last longer than three days when we were in school," Remus told Harry. "Don't trust him any further than you can throw him."

"I'll have you know I was considered quite the catch," said Sirius, ignoring Remus, who had snorted again. "Unlike Remus, who dated books in school."

"I had two relationships at Hogwarts," Remus corrected him.

"Hairy Snout, Human Heart, and Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts," Sirius agreed. "I know. You brought them home to meet your parents and everything."

* * *

Christmas with Sirius and Remus turned out to be an enormous event, as Sirius loved the holidays.

"He's always been like this," Remus told Harry a couple days before Christmas while they were finishing up the decorating. Sirius was storming around the house, flinging tinsel into the air and belting out Christmas songs at the top of his lungs.

"...seven snidgets soaring, six pixies pranking, _five elder wands_!"

"How many Christmas songs does he know?" Harry asked as he continued hanging garland and helping Remus introduce the fairies to their posts. Sirius had already been through a rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs' and 'Jingle Bells', and it was only noon.

"All of them," Remus said. "Count yourself lucky. He's been like this for three weeks already."

"If he's been looking forward to the holidays so much, why are we only decorating now?" Harry asked. Sirius heard the question and appeared at the top of the staircase, holding up a mug of eggnog like a toast.

"We were waiting for you, of course," he said. "Christmas colours are red and green. We had the red, you had the green."

Harry blinked. "That is the single sappiest thing I have ever heard you say," he said. Remus snickered.

"Both of you can bugger right off," Sirius declared cheerfully, sailing past them and tossing a handful of silvery tinsel to float in the air above their heads in a messy clump as he went. Remus sighed.

"Our next project, you realise, is finding all the places he's done things like that and fixing them," Remus told Harry, using his wand to give the tinsel some semblance of order. "It may actually take us until Christmas."

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry was woken early by the sound of his door creaking open. Something about the noise sounded stealthy, which was what had woken him. Stealthy movement in the Slytherin dormitories never boded well for the unconscious. He'd woken up missing a foot before, and had to hop around the dorm for half an hour before he found Theo using it to practice his transfiguration.

Stealthy movement at Sirius and Remus's house could sometimes be worse than all that, even. And last night, he and Sirius might have used a time-delayed spell to transfigure Remus's bed into a cleverly disguised pool. So Remus might be a little irritated with them.

Harry gripped his wand under his pillow and waited with slitted eyes for the attack, which came in the form of a bucket of water falling on his head.

"Wake up, Harry!"

Harry sat up, spluttering and blinking water out of his eyes. He glared at Sirius and Remus, who were standing in his doorway beaming.

"Remus, you don't play pranks on Christmas!" Sirius called from halfway down the hall. It turned out he wasn't standing in Harry's doorway so much as passing by, and had paused to watch Remus's prank. "That's not in the proper spirit of the holiday!"

Remus produced a towel from behind his back and tossed it at Harry as he watched Sirius walk away. "If I recall, that swimming pool you turned my bed into happened after midnight last night," he called. "You're a hypocrite, Sirius."

"It was planned and executed yesterday," Harry disagreed, having decided to play Sirius's Advocate since Sirius had wandered off. "We didn't spend Christmas morning scheming. We spent it thinking about the True Meaning of the Season. Or at least Sirius did. Now, because of you, I'm thinking about the true meaning of revenge."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Very clever, Harry," he said, and produced a tray piled with hot tea and biscuits. "Now have some tea and get out of bed, it's time to open your gifts."

The tray was obviously a pre-planned conciliatory gesture, though with an actual Christmas morning waiting, it was entirely unnecessary. Harry took a cup and some biscuits anyway, and dried his clothing as he followed Remus downstairs.

Sirius made them all sit between the hearth fire and the Christmas tree in one of the more obnoxiously red rooms and drink eggnog while they opened presents. Harry got gifts from Anthony, Hermione, Blaise, Pansy and Neville. Fred and George sent him a box full of what Harry assumed were pranks, which he decided to open later so as to maintain the element of surprise when he used them on Sirius and Remus. Remus gave him several books and a holster for his wand, and Sirius gave him a set of mirrors.

"That one's mine, actually," Sirius said after Harry opened it. He reached forward and snatched one of them out of Harry's hands.

Harry looked down at his mirror and frowned at his own confused expression. "What do they do?"

"Harry Potter," Sirius commanded, and Harry glanced up at him, startled. Sirius was looking at the mirror in his hands, so Harry looked back down at his own and blinked at the unexpected grey eyes smiling out of it.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius said. His face in the mirror echoed the greeting half a second later, and Harry smiled back, impressed.

"This is brilliant," he said, listening to the echo of his own voice from the other side of the mountain of wrapping paper in between him and his godfather. "Cheers, Sirius."

"It would have been a lot easier to talk during last term if I had remembered to give these to you before you went back to Hogwarts," he said, making a face at Harry through the mirror. "I wanted to give them to you in person, though. Family heirloom."

"Now you don't have to send me all those coded gardening stories," Harry told Remus, who was leaning against Sirius's shoulder, the easier to peer down at Harry's face in the glass. "You can just borrow Sirius's mirror."

Remus gave the real Harry a half-smile. "You don't like my gardening stories? I'm hurt, Harry."

"Don't worry," Sirius said when Harry blinked uncertainly instead of answering. "He makes those up anyway. We've never had a gnome infestation here. They like it better at the Weasley's."

* * *

Sirius and Harry used the mirrors frequently after that.

"Sirius, have you seen my broom?"

"I think you left it in the parlor."

"Thanks!"

* * *

"Harry, Remus says to tell you dinner is ready."

"Sirius, I'm in the next room."

"Oh. _Harry! Dinner is ready!_"

"_I know!_"

"_Then come eat!_"

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry rolled over and pulled his comforter over his head to block the light and tinny, strident Sirius-shouting.

"Harry, wake up. It's half ten! He's a lazy sod, Remus. I blame rock 'n roll."

"Sirius, what?"

"Well, that's what James's parents always blamed when we did something they didn't like. Those damn Weird Sisters have been corrupting our youth for generations."

Harry stuck a hand out from under his blankets and groped around for the mirror on his bedside table as Remus responded.

He brought it back under the covers with him and squinted at it. "Sirius, shut up," he muttered. "You're worse than an alarm clock."

"Harry! Glad to have you join the conversation! Remus was just telling me-"

"Yes, I heard him," Harry said, although he hadn't really. "Is there a way to turn this thing off?"

"Not to your knowledge!" Sirius chirped. "Come downstairs: we've made breakfast, I'm reading the paper, it's all very dignified. You should put on some trousers first, to be in the proper spirit of the thing."

Harry groaned and tossed the mirror face down on the rug next to his bed.

"Harry, I will send Remus up there to get you!"

"Get him yourself."

"This is easier, though. Here, look, if Harry won't come to us, I'll just read him the paper until he comes down."

"I hate you so much," Harry muttered. Sirius didn't appear to hear him at all, else he ignored Harry in favour of rustling the newspaper and clearing his throat loudly.

"The Cannons have lost to the Tornados again, three hundred and twenty points to fifty. No surprise there. Hmm. There's a new apothecary opening in Diagon Alley in a few months..."

Harry sighed and pushed his covers back. Sirius was clearly committed to waking him up, and when Sirius decided to do something, he dedicated himself to the cause one hundred percent. Harry wasn't going back to sleep.

"...the investigation into the death of Stan Shunpike has been halted..."

Harry padded around his room, donning his glasses and the recommended trousers as Sirius droned on in the background.

"...fatal accident, my foot. The bloke was clearly murdered, Remus."

"They've been investigating for months now," Remus agreed. "Strange that they'd take so long to decide on an accident."

Harry stooped and picked up the mirror. "I'm coming downstairs now," he said, and stuck it in his pocket, muffling Sirius's exclamation of triumph.

* * *

"How is Privet Drive?"

"I haven't even gone inside yet," Harry said. He was standing in the garden shed, having been apparated there by Remus, who had only just said goodbye and disapparated.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," Sirius said. "Tell your horrid aunt I say hello."

"I probably won't." Harry said. He stuck the mirror in his pocket and hoisted his rucksack on his back. The shed door took some shoving to get open, but Harry managed to push through all the snow up to the back door, where Dudley was waiting in the kitchen.

"Harry!" Dudley stood up from the table and gave him a hug. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Dudley." Harry took off his boots and jacket and followed Dudley into the front room, where Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were sitting, having what looked like a heated conversation.

"Dad, mum, Harry's here!" Dudley announced, waving an arm at Harry. Harry's aunt and uncle stopped mid-argument and looked up. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips when she saw them, and Uncle Vernon sat back in his chair and smoothed down his tie, still red faced.

Harry reached into his pocket and wrapped a hand around the mirror, already wishing his visit was over.


	59. The Rift

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat again and looked at Harry. "Happy Christmas, boy. Welcome back."

"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied, shifting and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. "Happy Christmas. I'll just, er, get out of your way."

Aunt Petunia didn't say anything as Harry crossed through the room and out into the hallway, but Harry hadn't really expected her to. Dudley overtook him and darted up the stairs before Harry could hang up his coat in the hallway.

"Hurry up, Harry, your present is in my room!"

"I'm coming, just give me a second," Harry said, grinning a bit. Behind the door he'd just come through, Uncle Vernon's deep voice grumbled something, which incited an outpouring from Aunt Petunia.

Without his ear pressed up against the door, the words were muffled and indistinct, but Harry'd spent eleven years classifying and reacting to his relatives' various negative intonations, and he could define these easily. Uncle Vernon was using his 'I'm trying terribly hard to be patient, but one wrong word out of you, boy, and it'll be the cupboard for you for a week!' voice, whereas Aunt Petunia was using her 'even though I have no proof that you broke my favourite picture frame, and in fact, it's almost certainly Dudley's fault, I still cannot believe that you thought you could get away with it, you're such a horrid child!' voice.

It was weird, listening to them use those voices on someone else. Especially each other. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were arguing about, either. The way they'd both looked at Dudley when he dragged Harry into the room was explanation enough.

Harry hung up his coat, dropped his boots, and hurried up the stairs after Dudley. The next six days couldn't pass quickly enough.

* * *

"Is it still too soon to ask how you're enjoying Privet Drive?"

Harry set his quill down, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the mirror. It was mid-afternoon on his third day at the Dursleys, and he was working on his Charms essay in his bedroom. He'd found that the tension between Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really only tended to saturate the downstairs. If he stayed in his room during the day, above the flood level, it was almost like any other holiday at the Dursleys. Awkward and uncomfortable, but he didn't actually want to pack his things and flee in the night.

"Enjoying isn't even in the same country as the word I'd use," Harry said, propping his chin up on his palm and staring down at Sirius's face. "My essays will be detailed, though."

Sirius laughed, which Harry thought was somewhat cruel.

"Petunia was always a delight to be around when we were younger," he said, leaning closer to the mirror. "Don't tell Remus, and James would have killed me if he'd known, but when I first met her, I smuggled a few pranks along. Replaced her hand soap with frog spawn, added a few nose biting teacups to her china set, that sort of thing."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Sirius!"

"I'd heard stories about her," Sirius said in his own defense. "She was awful to Lily about magic. She deserved it, if you ask me."

Harry shook his head. "I can't believe you."

From downstairs, Harry heard what sounded like a cupboard banging, followed by a low shout.

"-you can't POSSIBLY think I'd-"

"-don't understand your selfishness!"

Closer to hand, Harry heard a door open and shut. He sighed.

"Sirius, I have to go."

Sirius, who couldn't have heard the background sounds Harry was attuned to, took one look at his face and nodded, his face creased with sympathy.

"You don't have to stay there for the rest of the holiday," he reminded Harry. "You can come back whenever you want, just say the word. Bring Dudley."

As if on cue, there was a knock at Harry's door. He shook his head. "You know my uncle wouldn't let him come. You're that convict on the telly. I'll talk to you later."

Dudley's voice filtered in through the door. "Harry?"

"The offer's always open, either way. Talk to you soon, Harry."

Harry propped the empty mirror up against his inkwell. "Come in, Dudley,"

Dudley came in and shut the door behind him. "I'm having trouble with my essay," he said, showing Harry the parchments he'd brought with him.

"Which class?"

"Er," Dudley glanced down at the parchment. "Astronomy."

"Oh, you only need ten inches and a diagram of four of the constellations," Harry said, playing along. "You can copy mine if you want."

Dudley shoved Harry's blankets out of the way and sat down cross legged at the foot of Harry's bed. "Thanks."

They worked in silence for a while. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon fought respectably. Usually, you didn't even know they were having an argument until one of them raised their voice just a little bit too much. Harry hated it. It made it difficult to predict the beginning or end of an argument, since Harry and Dudley usually only heard snatches.

It was a gamble whenever Harry ventured downstairs for food. He might make it to the kitchen and make sandwiches, only to come back out into the hallway and find that they were arguing in the front room and had left the doors open. He hated being near them when they fought. His heart beat a little faster and his movements became clumsier; it felt as though the two of them might spot him and suddenly decide he was a better outlet for their anger.

Dudley made everything much worse. He completely refused to acknowledge his parents' fighting out loud, which made the only potential ally Harry might have in the house null. On the other hand, whenever they started up again, he found Harry and came up with some inevitably uncomfortable topic that had absolutely nothing to do with his parents or the muggle world, and pushed it.

"I found another one of those letters Draco kept sending you over the summer," Dudley said, which was just the sort of thing Harry meant.

Harry nodded and scratched another sentence into his essay.

"You should read this one, it's a good one," Dudley continued. Harry dropped his quill and turned around in his seat.

"You read one of my letters?" he asked, irritated. Dudley let a sly grin spread across his face.

"No, but it got your attention." He pulled a scroll out from under his Astronomy diagrams and showed it to Harry. Sure enough, it was written on the same rich parchment as all of Draco's other letters. Dudley leaned back against the wall and looked down at the scroll. "Although, maybe I should read it, if you won't."

Harry stood up and snatched the parchment out of Dudley's loose grip. He glared as he returned to his seat, ripping open the letter just to get Dudley to shut up.

"I've already read most of Draco's letters," he grumbled. "Why do you care so much if I read them, anyway?"

Dudley shrugged. "Because he's your best friend, and friends read each other's letters."

Harry stopped halfway through unrolling the scroll and stared at Dudley. "Have you just forgotten last year?" he asked incredulously. "How he acted? And what his father did?"

Dudley shifted on the bed and pushed his parchments into a neater pile. "Well, yeah," he said, slowly, looking down at his hands. "But, sometimes... people make big terrible awful mistakes, and they make you miserable for a long time, but... but you forgive them anyway because you want them in your life and they're sorry."

He paused and darted a quick glance up at Harry's face. "I mean, right? That's what you do."

No ready response came to mind, so Harry sat in dumb silence in the face of this outpouring. He looked back down at the scroll he'd been unrolling and willed himself to say something.

Dudley's real meaning was obvious, but Aunt Petunia didn't act like she was sorry. A part of Harry thought Dudley would be better off not forgiving her at all, but he couldn't just tell Dudley to reject his mother.

Instead, he stared down at Draco's letter without reading it, until the moment was broken by another bout of raised voices from downstairs.

* * *

"Boys! Wash up, dinner in ten!"

Harry groaned into his History of Magic textbook. He'd been using it as a pillow after skimming through a particularly boring section on some great bloodletting in the fourth century and giving up. He unstuck his face from a portrait of Sidra the Severe and rubbed his eyes.

Aunt Petunia's call had sounded cheerful, which Harry found more annoying than anything else. Experience of the past week told Harry that the more cheerful she sounded, the more time he'd spend that night gritting his teeth as she tried to pretend she had a perfect family and Dudley played along.

Before Harry could pull himself out of his seat, there was a knock on his door and Dudley poked his head in.

"Hey Harry, quickly before dinner, can you help me with this?"

At Harry's nod, Dudley stepped fully into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. "It's for that colour changing spell. I can't tell if I'm doing the wand movement right."

Harry nodded and gestured to Dudley's wand. "Let's see, then."

Dudley took a deep breath and waved his wand in a half arc and a flick over his essay, which they needed to be able to change to their house colours in front of Flitwick when they turned them in after break.

"No, you've got the flick wrong," Harry said, picking up his own wand. "It's an upward flick at the end of the first syllable, and you're doing a weird kind of swooping flick. Remus showed me before I left Devon, watch."

Harry demonstrated the wand movement Remus had taught him a week ago, and Dudley watched with his eyebrows pulled together.

"Try it," Harry said, and watched as Dudley did the flick backward. "No, don't move your hand to your left, it's my left. Your right."

He stood up and turned away from Dudley, which meant that when Aunt Petunia knocked on the slightly ajar door, it fell open to show Harry waving his wand while Dudley stood behind it, watching.

"Put that horrible stick away and come down to dinner," Aunt Petunia said from the hallway, with a bite in her voice that Harry hadn't heard since last holiday. "Have you seen Dudley?"

Harry lowered his wand and stared at her, unable to stop himself from sneering a bit as he pulled the door all the way open to reveal Dudley on the other side.

He dropped the look the second he saw Dudley's face, which had fallen into something lower than the cheerful denial he'd been sporting all week.

"Dudley," he said, but Dudley wasn't looking at him.

"Horrible stick, mum?" he asked, pressing his mouth into a shaky line. "I thought you said it was all fine."

"Oh honey, I didn't mean it like _that_," she said, putting a hand to her throat and trying to laugh it off. "Of course it's fine, Diddydums. Now come downstairs, dinner is ready."

Dudley didn't move. "How did you mean it, then?"

Harry took a slow, smooth step backward, pressing himself against the wall as he watched Petunia's smile falter.

"Mum, if you think magic is horrible, why did you come back? If you think-" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "If you think I'm horrible-"

"Dudley!" Petunia shook her head and looked hurt. Harry couldn't tell for sure, but he thought it was genuine. "I would never say such a thing! Don't ever say things like that about your mother. Of course I don't think you're horrible, sweetie-"

"If you think magic is horrible, then you think I'm horrible, because I'm magic," Dudley pointed out, his voice getting louder as he went. He showed her the wand in his hand as he spoke. "I have a horrible stick, too."

Shaking her head, Petunia stepped closer to Dudley and smoothed her hand across his hair. "No, that's not true, honey. I still love you."

Dudley leaned away from her hand. "Even though you hate my magic?"

Petunia shook her head and reached out again. "No, darling! I was going to say, even if I -" Her mouth twisted in the pause. "-don't exactly love what you do."

Dudley's face crumpled, and to Harry's surprise, tears started to leak out of the corners of his eyes. These weren't the alligator tears of their childhood. These were genuine distress, and as Dudley stepped back out of his mother's grasp, Harry stepped forward.

"That's not how it works," Harry said in Dudley's place. Petunia looked around, as though for the source of an irritating buzzing. She frowned when she spotted him near the wall.

"You were not invited to this conversation," she snapped, putting her hands on her hips like she was getting ready to shout at him. Harry took a deep breath and talked over her.

"Dudley is magic," he said loudly, angrily. "It's not just a hobby he has on the weekend that you can disapprove of and ignore. He's going to have girlfriends who are witches. He's going to get a job in the wizarding world when we graduate from our _magic school._"

"He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to," she said, her attention totally on Harry now.

"You mean he doesn't have to if _you_ don't want him to," Harry retorted. "Dudley likes being a wizard. He's good at it. He's happy at Hogwarts."

Petunia glared. "Dudley can speak for himself." She turned to look at Dudley, who had gotten his emotions under control and shook his head at her.

"Harry's right," he said. "I'm happy being magic. It's who I am, mum."

"It's only a small part, though," Petunia said, nodding at Dudley with her eyes wide. "Right, sweetie? It's not all you are."

Dudley's forehead creased, and he looked around at Harry for help.

"It's big enough to _matter_!" Harry exclaimed. He wished he could grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. The look on Dudley's face should have been enough to tell her that everything she was saying was as wrong as it was possible to be.

Petunia rounded on him. "This is a private conversation between me and my son," she began in a frosty tone.

"That you're having in my room!" Harry pointed out, gesturing around at his desk and wardrobe.

"The room that you live in in _my house_, under _my family's_ discretion," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "You would do well to remember your _place_ and show some _respect._"

"Show respect for _what_?" Harry shouted, moving to stand between Petunia and Dudley. This conversation was a long time in coming, and it was almost a relief to get it all out. "You only live here because Uncle Vernon lets you! You have no right to come in here and start harassing Dudley! You should never have come back, why don't you just lea-"

Harry felt the sharp pain on his cheek before he realised she'd slapped him. He fell back a step and pressed his own palm to the spot, staring at her with incredulity.

"Dudley is my son and I will raise him as I see fit," Petunia said. "You, on the other hand, are not my son, and therefore you have no say in the choices this family makes. You-"

The rumble of a throat clearing had all three of them looking around at the doorway. All the shouting must have roused Uncle Vernon from wherever he'd been in the house, and now he stood staring at Aunt Petunia, his face rapidly turning bright red with anger.

"Petunia, you promised," he said in one of his angriest voices. Harry took another unconscious step back and bumped shoulders with Dudley.

"No, you don't understand, Vernon-" Petunia began, but an angry Uncle Vernon wasn't someone to be placated.

"I asked you not to talk to the boys about their magic," he said sharply. "If we agreed on nothing else, Petunia, we agreed on that!"

Petunia shook her head. "Dudley wasn't-"

"I won't have you filling Dudders's head with your nonsense, Pet!" Vernon gripped the doorknob in one of his big, purple hands, and glared at her. "He's a fine son, and he's our son. He's going to grow up and be a fine man, and you're going to _let him_, magic or no."

This was clearly an argument they'd had before, because Petunia threw up her hands and exclaimed, "He could just not-"

"I'm paying for him to go to the best school of magic in the country!" Vernon shouted, his face purpling. "He's not going to waste my money by growing up to become an accountant because you can't-"

"Vernon, I've told you, I don't-"

"You're not going to treat him like we trea-"

"_Let me finish a sentence, Vernon Dursley!_" Petunia shrieked, crimson cheeked and balling her hands up into fists.

"I won't!" Vernon bellowed right back. "Your opinions have no place in this house! In front of my son!"

Petunia breathed in deeply through her nose, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with anger and tears. "Would you prefer that I had stayed gone, Vernon? Would you prefer it if I stayed away from _your_ son?"

"I-"

"Maybe..." It was Dudley. Harry could feel his shoulder shaking as he stood next to him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed surprised that he was even there, let alone interrupting. "We're glad you came back, but maybe you should go. Again."

The only sound in the room was the ever present background buzzing of muggle appliances. Petunia's face was white and fixed.

"We can... we can write. But you don't want to be here, mum." Dudley sniffed and shook his head. "You're miserable. I thought- but, well, you are. Harry's right, you should just leave."

Harry blinked. He thought he was the only one of the two of them that had noticed how Aunt Petunia really felt. He shifted uncomfortably at being brought into the conversation, but Dudley's shoulder followed as he moved. Harry got the hint. He stayed where he was.

"Dudders, sweetie." Petunia swallowed. "You don't mean that. You don't really think that."

Dudley shook his head, angrily swiping tears off his cheeks. "I do, though. I'm going to get a wizard's job and marry a witch and I want you to be okay with that and if you're not, I want you to be someday, and we're going to hate each other if you stay."

Petunia shook her head. Her face had taken on a pinched quality, and she clutched at her upper arms, wrapped across her torso. "I could never hate you, Dudley, don't ever say that."

Harry could hear Dudley take a harsh breath. "I don't want to hate you, mum. And I don't want you and dad to hate each other, either."

The tears that had been pooling in Aunt Petunia's eyes finally fell, and she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheekbones carefully.

"Well." She swallowed and pressed the handkerchief to her mouth for a long, silent moment. "That seems to be all there is to say. Dinner is on the table. I'll get my things."

She left the room, and Harry and Uncle Vernon stared at each other, for a lack of anywhere else to look. Vernon cleared his throat and looked away first.

"Harry," he said, and cleared his throat again. "Could you send a.. an owl, contact that man who came last summer. He mentioned safe houses. With the war..."

Harry chewed on the inside of his lip and nodded. He knew that Sirius was in contact with Kingsley through the Order. He picked up his mirror from the desk and looked at Uncle Vernon out of the corner of his eye before calling Sirius's name.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Sirius grinned up out of the mirror. "Nymphadora is visiting our humble home! She says wotcher too."

Harry could hear another person muttering faintly in the background, but it was at that moment that Sirius caught sight of Harry's face and dropped the joviality.

"What's wrong? Do you need something?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing up at Uncle Vernon again. He seemed curious about the mirror and Harry's conversation. Dudley, who had already seen the mirror, was still standing next to Harry and shaking. Harry pressed their shoulders together bracingly.

"Aunt Petunia isn't going to be staying here anymore," he said. He would have softened his words for Dudley's sake if he'd known how. "Uncle Vernon wants her in a safe house. It should probably be as muggle as possible."

Sirius frowned. "Hang on." The image in the mirror blurred as it was passed, and soon Tonks's unusually serious face filled the frame.

"Did I hear you need a safe house for a muggle?"

"Yeah, as soon as possible," he said. "She's packing now."

"I'm on it," she said. "We'll have someone over there within the hour, Harry."

Harry gave her a brief, relieved smile. "Thanks, Tonks."

The mirror went blank and he set it down on the desk.

With that conversation ended, the three of them fell silent again, unsure of what to say as Aunt Petunia packed in the room across the hall.

* * *

Sure enough, it was only another half an hour before the doorbell rang. Harry pulled the door open to Kingsley and Tonks, and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

"I think she's still in her room," he said, gesturing up the staircase. The two Aurors shared a glance which ended with a nod from Tonks.

"I'll go get her," she said. Her hair was a sober dirty blonde, and she gave Harry a reassuring smile as she passed on her way to the first floor.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon had relocated from Harry's tiny, crowded bedroom into the kitchen. Kingsley followed Harry through and refused a seat with a shake of his head. Uncle Vernon stood up on their entrance, and stayed standing as well. The tension thickened, and to avoid it, Harry dropped into the chair next to Dudley's and slumped in his seat.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "This safe house. I assume she'll be comfortable?"

Kingsley linked his hands behind his back and nodded. "She'll be staying in a well protected home with a small group of similar individuals.

"I see," Uncle Vernon said, squinting. "Individuals who-"

"-are non-magical, but are aware of our world and require protection."

The incredibly formal tone Kingsley was using made the wait all the more awkward, so it was something of a relief when Tonks appeared in the doorway.

"There isn't another floor, is there?" she asked, looking concerned. "She's not up there."

Kingsley straightened his posture and pulled out his wand, looking concerned despite himself. Tonks joined him, and together they cast nonverbally. Shaking his head, Kingsley moved toward the door while tucking his wand away in his sleeve. "She's not in the house. Either she'll have hired a cab, or..."

"I'll alert the guard," Tonks said. She passed Harry and Dudley on her way to the back door, and paused. "Kingsley's probably right, but stay indoors until we give the all clear."

Harry nodded, and the Aurors disappeared. Dudley hovered near the kitchen window, but when Uncle Vernon heaved a sigh and sat down, he pressed his mouth into a line and disappeared out into the hallway. Harry took one look at Uncle Vernon and followed.

It turned out Dudley had gone back upstairs to Harry's room, which only made sense when Harry remembered that his window looked out onto the street and Dudley's didn't. Dudley sat at Harry's desk, leaving the bed for Harry, and they waited.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Tonks appeared near Number Seven, walking toward the Dursley residence. By the time she reached the front step, Dudley and Harry were waiting for her in the front hall.

"She's fine," Tonks reported, giving them a mildly relieved grin. "Kingsley was right, she was in a taxi."

"Are you bringing her back?" Dudley asked. It was the first thing he'd said since Harry called Sirius. "We didn't say goodbye."

Tonks blinked, and the grin slid off her face. "Oh." She looked back and forth between Harry and Dudley. "Er, I don't think we can. The, ah, magic on the, the safe house can only be disrupted for so long... It's just safer if we move quickly, yeah? Erm, I'm really, really sorry."

She looked really, really sorry. Harry glanced at Dudley, who swallowed and nodded. "Tell her I'll write to her," he instructed, and Tonks agreed.

Once the door was closed and the house was quiet again, Dudley went back up to Harry's room, apparently to check the street outside one more time.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. The silence had been killing him. Dudley frowned, confused.

"For what?"

"For- I made the whole thing worse," Harry explained, dropping into his desk chair. Dudley stood back from the window and looked at him like he was stupid. "I shouldn't have yelled so much."

"You were right, though."

Harry blinked at the carpet, which seemed to upset Dudley even more. He dropped down onto Harry's bed and continued.

"No, Harry, you were right. She was wrong." His face crumpled again, but he continued. "I agreed with everything you said."

Despite Dudley's insistence, Harry still felt guilty. As a result, when it seemed like Dudley just wanted to sit and not say anything for a while, Harry let him. And when Dudley ended up falling asleep on Harry's bed, Harry propped his feet up on the nightstand, slumped down in his chair, and shut his eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Any issues, let me know. I really feel like I should have had someone beta this before posting, and not just for grammar and spelling. This was a complex chapter to write._


	60. The Listening

Remus and Tonks showed up at Privet Drive on the day they were to return to Hogwarts.

"You're welcome to come along," Tonks said to Harry's uncle. Her hair was auburn today, and Harry could see Uncle Vernon trying to place where he'd met her before.

Uncle Vernon refused, obviously having noticed their lack of vehicle. He said his goodbyes to Dudley, and clapped Harry on the shoulder as they went out the door.

Harry nodded a goodbye, completely distracted by the letter burning a hole in his trouser pocket. It had arrived only yesterday, and already the seal had fallen off and the fine parchment was wrinkled from how many times Harry had anxiously consulted it.

It was from Draco, and it said things like 'I've made sure he understands this time,' and 'Mother isn't pleased at all'. Worst of all was the phrase: 'Father is talking about Durmstrang again.'

Draco's penmanship was unusually hurried; in fact, everything about the letter screamed tension.

Harry followed Dudley, Remus and Tonks through the park, fidgeting and thinking that it was taking far too long to get to Platform 9 3/4. He wondered why they couldn't just apparate from Privet Drive, and asked.

"When we updated the protections on Number Four, we added Anti-Apparition wards," Tonks explained, leading them into a quiet corner of the park, where they'd be surrounded by trees and shrubs. "So we have to go to the nearest quiet spot. We usually arrive by Arabella's house, but this park is the closest and most convenient place to apparate from when we're in a hurry."

"We'd prefer to have the two of you outside the wards for as short a time as possible," Remus agreed. "Having said that, take my arm, Harry. Dudley, you're with Tonks."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He took Remus's arm, and soon they were standing on Platform 9 3/4. Harry and Dudley took their newly resized trunks back from Remus, and Harry stared around the platform, hoping to spot a flash of white blonde hair.

"Enjoy the rest of your term, boys," Remus said. After a moment, he added pointedly, "Enjoy the rest of your term, Harry."

Harry blinked and looked back at him. "I'll, er, try," he said, giving Remus an apologetic grimace. "Tell Sirius I say hello."

"You could have told him yourself if you'd been paying any attention on the way over," Tonks told him, grinning. "He was the big black dog that followed ten feet behind us the entire walk to the park."

Dudley shook his head at Harry's startled expression. "Let's go, Harry," he said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward the Express. Harry waved at Remus and Tonks and gave the platform one last thorough inspection while he waited for Dudley to lug his trunk up the narrow steps. He couldn't spot anyone he knew in the crowd.

Harry followed Dudley down the narrow corridor, glancing into each compartment as they passed. When Dudley found Hermione sitting in an empty compartment, he pulled the door open, exchanged hellos, and spent a minute wrestling his trunk into the luggage rack. Harry hesitated in the doorway, but at Hermione's concerned glance between Dudley's still red eyes and Harry's hovering, he sighed and brought his trunk in as well.

'His mother left,' he mouthed behind Dudley's back. Hermione's expression dissolved into sympathy, and she stood up to help Dudley secure his trunk.

"It's good to see you both again," Hermione said, letting Dudley sit down first, then sitting next to him. "I'm looking forward to getting back to O.W.L. revision, aren't you?"

Dudley gave her a small smile for her effort, and shrugged. Harry finished securing his own trunk and sat down across from them, just in time for Neville to burst in and start chattering cheerfully at the lot of them about his holiday.

"...and Great Uncle Algie got me a new pot with a shield charm built in for my Mimbulus Mimbetonia, which means no more waking up covered in slime because Seamus knocked into my nightstand on the way to the bathroom!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, and was relieved to see he wasn't the only one hearing about these accidents for the first time. She made a face when she saw he was looking, and they both put on expressions of polite interest when Neville looked at them again.

Neville grinned, not even remotely fooled. "Anyway, how were your holidays?"

Dudley looked down at his knees and shrugged again, clearly miserable. Harry, who was pleased that Dudley hadn't burst into tears or something, shrugged as well and said, "It was a holiday."

"My holiday was lovely," Hermione said, and distracted them all with a story about her parents and their trip to Greece. Harry nodded along but the train was moving now, which meant that either Draco was on board or he wasn't.

Harry stood, cutting Hermione off mid-sentence. "Sorry," he said, backing toward the door as the three of them looked at him curiously. "I've got to go find someone."

He shut the door behind himself and looked up and down the corridor. If he could even find Pansy or Blaise, one of them might know. Taking a deep breath, Harry marched toward the back of the train, looking in the window of every compartment as he passed. All fighting and distrust aside, if Draco didn't come back to Hogwarts it was Harry's fault, full stop. He was the one who had demanded that Draco go out of his way to antagonise his father.

Harry found a few Gryffindors, a group of Ravenclaws which, oddly enough, contained Anthony but not Luna, a lot of younger students, and several groups of Slytherins who very much didn't like him, and who sneered when they saw him peering in at them. Draco wasn't with any of them, but then, he didn't seem to be anywhere.

Staving off panic, Harry moved into the last section of compartments and peered in a window, only to find Blaise and his new girlfriend, kissing. He pulled the door open, startling them both.

"Blaise, have you seen Draco?"

"Harry!" Blaise pulled away from (Harry paused and pulled the name out of his memory) Lisa to stare at him incredulously. "No, I don't mind the interruption at all, yes, I had a lovely holiday, thank you for asking, how was yours? Have you met Lisa?"

Harry went red as the reality of what he was interrupting sunk in. "Er, sorry. My holiday was, ah, good... Y-yes, I think we've met..."

Blaise held up a hand, silencing him. "Wait, did you say you're looking for Draco?"

Harry nodded. "Have you seen him?"

Blaise frowned at him, and for a long, horrible moment, Harry was certain Blaise was about to tell him Draco had gone to Durmstrang.

"I haven't," he said finally, which wasn't much better. "What do you want him for, anyway?"

"I just need to talk to him," Harry said, hoping his worry wasn't too obvious. "I'll keep looking, then. Sorry for bothering you."

"Bye then," Lisa said, which embarrassed Harry all over again. She grinned at his blushing face and waggled her fingers as he shut the door.

He sincerely hoped that if he found Pansy next, she was alone or with friends.

* * *

Harry found Draco toward the front of the train, after retracing his steps past Dudley and the other Gryffindors and continuing on toward the prefect compartments. Draco was headed down the hall with his back to Harry, and Harry let out a long, relieved breath when he saw him. A few seconds passed while he debated whether or not he should let Draco disappear back into his compartment and just be satisfied with knowing he hadn't been shipped off to Europe. It was too late for that, though. He'd have to talk to Draco eventually, especially since Blaise knew Harry'd been searching for him.

"Draco," he called, as he paused in front of his compartment. Draco looked up and dropped his hand, which had been reaching for the door latch.

"I guess you got my letter," Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"You're not at Durmstrang," Harry pointed out, feeling stupid even as he said it. "That's good."

"Yeah?" Draco smiled a little. "Right. Good."

"Can we..."

Draco nodded and followed Harry wordlessly through the train. Harry's search meant he had a pretty good idea of where the empty compartments were, and he led them to the nearest one he'd spotted.

Once the door was closed and both of them were sat down on opposite sides of the window, Harry cleared his throat.

"So, you're not at Durmstrang."

Draco lifted his hands and nodded. "No. When I wrote that letter, Father was still refusing to accept that I wasn't going to... join." He paused. "He was furious. Mother cried."

"But now?" Harry asked. Draco frowned.

"I made him listen. After I sent you that letter, we talked again and Father said he understood that I have to make my own choices."

Harry leaned back in his seat. "Lucius Malfoy agreed that you have to make your own choices," he repeated, deadpan.

"Er, sort of," Draco said picking at a loose thread on the curtain. "It wasn't exactly a sweeping gesture of goodwill, if that's what you're imagining."

He glanced up and caught Harry's expression. "Well, before all that, he'd said that the Malfoy family stands united at all times, so I said that the entire Malfoy family shouldn't suffer because he made a bad decision, and then-"

Harry leaned forward, incredulous. "You said that to him?"

Draco swallowed, looking ill even at the memory. "Like I said, he was furious. That was when Mother started crying, I think. Anyway, I left so we could all calm down a bit, and I wrote that letter."

"And somehow you went from that to 'Do what you want, Draco'?"

"It took a while," Draco admitted. "I think he and Mother talked while I was in my rooms. When I came back, Father and I shouted at each other for a while longer, and I told him I wasn't going to change my mind, and that I really meant it. He said Hogwarts was a bad influence on me, but I said I don't want to be a Death Eater, whether..." Draco's eyes cut to the window, rather than look Harry in the face. "Well, whether we're friends or not."

Harry nodded, which spurred Draco on to further explanation. "I didn't realise before everything that happened, how extreme the Death Eaters are. But Father is already involved, and he's right, Malfoys should always appear as a united front, and if I don't join, it's like a betrayal of my family. It is a betrayal of my family, and it will make Father vulnerable in front of his enemies and his allies, and I know all that."

He glanced at Harry, who was still waiting (with patience, even) for the part where Draco explained why he didn't want to be a Death Eater.

"I don't want to hurt people," Draco said. He looked small, paler than usual. "I don't understand how having pride in my pure blood means I have to hurt people. You aren't a pureblood, but you don't deserve... to be hurt."

Harry bit the inside of his mouth and made a noise that indicated agreement. Draco continued.

"I told him that, and he just kind of sat down and, and looked disappointed, but that's when he said I make my own choices."

That sounded more like something Lucius Malfoy would say, and the uneasy set of Draco's shoulders finally drove the point home. Harry had given Draco an ultimatum, one he'd chosen in part because he never expected Draco to follow through, and Draco had gone off and done it anyway.

He was such a stubborn prat.

Draco looked at Harry, waiting for a reaction. Harry looked out the window, down at his shoes, at Draco's shoes. He was having difficulty wrapping his head around what Draco had done. That he had basically succeeded. He exhaled noisily.

"I need - I have to think about this," Harry said, raising a hand when Draco looked ready to protest. "I'm not saying we can't be... friendly now, but it's... difficult. I need to think."

Avoiding Draco's gaze, Harry stood up and forced a smile as he backed toward the door. "Thank you," he said to the empty seat next to Draco. "I'll see you at school, yeah?"

Draco nodded, and Harry darted a quick glance at him despite his best intentions. He couldn't read anything in Draco's expression that he wanted to see.

* * *

That night, Pansy and Blaise cornered Harry in the common room. Harry looked between them, but they just stared at him with expectant expressions.

"...Draco and I talked," he said, after a long, awkward minute.

"Yes!" Blaise straightened and grinned at Pansy, who looked between the two of them with wide eyes.

"Let's hear it," she demanded, gripping him by the elbow and steering him over to an empty table in the corner of the room furthest from the fireplaces. They sat down under some left-over garland, and Pansy fixed him with a needle-sharp gaze. Blaise sat down across from her, jubilant and curious.

"All of it," he added. "What happened after you left Lisa and I?"

"I kept looking for him," Harry said, still caught off guard by the intense display of interest. "And then I found him."

"Right, and what did you talk about?" Pansy asked. She and Blaise leaned in, bright eyed and attentive.

Harry blinked and cast around for a moment. "We... er, talked about the row he had with his parents over the holiday."

Pansy nodded with sympathy. "It was pretty awful, from what he told me. But he made his point, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed. "That's all we talked about, really."

Blaise's hopeful smile went flat. "That's all? Harry. What did you say to him?"

Harry looked down at the table. "I said, er. Thank you."

"And then?"

"And then I left?"

Pansy huffed. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" Harry said defensively. "I'm glad he straightened things out with his father, but honestly, Pansy, making the decision to not join the Death Eaters is actually the very least he could do if he wants to be friends again."

Blaise and Pansy sat back in their respective seats. Blaise nodded, sighed, then nodded again.

"That's fair," he said. "But give him a chance, would you? If you never see each other, how can you expect to move past all this?"

"I said we could talk sometimes," Harry admitted. "And that I'd see him at Hogwarts. But not that we're friends again."

Pansy and Blaise's jubilant grins returned. Apparently that was enough for them.

"Fantastic," Blaise said. "On a lighter note, I hear you and Padma Patil are coming with me and Lisa on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

Pansy made a brief face at the mention of Blaise's new girlfriend, but discarded whatever emotion was behind that almost instantly, in favour of an embarrassing amount of intrigue.

"How did you pull that off, Harry?" she asked, grinning. "Padma Patil... oooh, I bet she asked you, didn't she? She's like that."

Harry took a moment from blushing madly to inquire: "Like what?"

Pansy shrugged. "I just think she's far too practical. There's no mystery to it."

"I don't mind that," Harry pointed out. "I don't really like mystery."

Pansy waved a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, what do you know? She's a nice enough girl, though, you'll be fine."

"Fine?" Harry echoed. Blaise leaned in a bit.

"Definitely," he agreed. "Just make sure you wear something nice."

"Oh Merlin, yes," Pansy chimed in. "And do something with your hair."

"My hair?" He stopped himself from reaching up to touch it. "What do I do with it?"

Pansy pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not that," she decided, as Harry finally caved and smoothed his hair down. "I'll help."

"We'll both help, don't worry." Blaise told Harry, who felt certain he looked like a cornered rabbit. He couldn't help it.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Pansy sat down next to Harry radiating nonchalance. Harry gave her a confused glance, and while he wasn't looking, Blaise sat down across from them with Draco in tow.

Blaise smiled innocently at Harry as he gripped Draco's elbow under the table, and Draco avoided Harry's eye entirely.

Harry sighed and went back to his poached eggs, to the general satisfaction of his friends.

"Good morning, Pansy," Blaise said with unforced cheer. "Isn't it a good morning?"

"It's a positively sparkling morning, Blaise," Pansy replied. "Isn't it, Draco?"

"Er, yeah, it's alright, I guess," Draco replied, taking a piece of toast and glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

"Spiffing," Harry agreed, to waylay any inquiries that might come his way. Blaise snorted into his tea, but Pansy beamed.

"It is," she said. "What a lovely way to start the new term."

The morning owls arrived while she spoke, and the Daily Prophet landed on Blaise's plate. It was folded in half, but the huge block letters and the row of pictures caught Harry's attention.

Blaise picked it up and brushed off a few crumbs as he shook it open.

"Mass breakout from Azkaban," he read. His eyes went wide. "Merlin."

Harry leaned forward and pulled the paper down flat on the table so they could all see it. Blaise smoothed it out as Pansy and Draco moved plates and jam out of the way.

"Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Travers, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange-" Blaise trailed off and glanced up at Draco, who had gone ashen.

Harry straightened the paper and looked at the upside-down picture of Bellatrix Lestrange. He remembered that name. She was related to Sirius. Neville had told Harry about her; she was in Azkaban in part for torturing his parents into insanity.

Harry looked up at the Gryffindor table, where Neville, Dudley, and Hermione were all crowded around their own copy of the Prophet. Neville looked like he might be physically ill, and it was obvious that he hadn't told their other friends because they didn't look nearly concerned enough.

Harry waited until Neville looked up, and once he managed to catch his eye, gave him a look that clearly asked, 'are you okay?'

Neville's mouth was tight. He nodded, then sort of shrugged, then stood up and left the Gryffindor table altogether, headed for the doors. Hermione, Dudley and Ron called out to him as he left, but he ignored them.

"Harry," Blaise said slowly. He had his back to the Gryffindor table, so he couldn't possibly know what was going on in Harry's head. "Are you alright?"

Harry returned his attention to his Slytherin friends, who were all watching him with varying expressions of wary concern.

"I'm fine," he said, standing up as Hermione leapt up from the Gryffindor table to follow Neville. "I'll be right back."

He caught up with Hermione as she reached the exit and managed to catch her arm in the Entrance Hall before she could set out to find Neville.

"Leave it, Hermione," he advised. She looked back at him with surprise.

"What do you mean?" She tugged at her arm, and Harry let go. "Do you know why he's so upset?"

"I do," Harry admitted. "Look, just give him ten minutes before you go chasing after him. I'll even tell you where he went, but not for another ten minutes."

"Oh, but class starts in twenty minutes," Hermione said, frowning.

"If you want to go after him, you'll be late," he shrugged. "Don't you have Defense, anyway? Who cares?"

Hermione bit her lip to hide her obvious smile.

"Yes, alright. Back here in ten minutes?"

Harry turned back to the Great Hall. "See you then."

As he returned to the Slytherin table, Draco's stiff posture and Pansy and Blaise's tense expressions reminded him that Neville wasn't the only one with a connection to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"She's your aunt, isn't she?" Harry asked as he dropped into his chair. Draco's jaw clenched.

"Yes."

"That's unfortunate," Harry said. "The ones who escaped, they're all Death Eaters, aren't they?"

Blaise nodded and shifted the paper around so Harry could see. All three of them continued to watch Harry with caution.

"I wonder if this will convince anyone that Voldemort's back?" Harry skimmed through the article. "Oh look," he said fatalistically. "Sirius got a mention. Of course he did."

He looked up at their continued silence and huffed. "I already knew Draco's family are a bunch of evil wankers," he snapped. "I'm not going to attack him because one of them decided to remind everyone."

Draco's mouth twisted with bemusement. "They're not all evil wankers," he said. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco backtracked defensively. "Just some of them." Harry raised the other eyebrow, which made Draco huff. "I'm related to your godfather, too, you know."

Harry accepted this as a valid point and backed down. He went back to reading through the article and wondering what this meant for those who acknowledged Voldemort's return, and those who hadn't yet.

* * *

His answer came two days later, in the form of Educational Decree Number Twenty Six.

"'Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach,'" Pansy read in a clear voice. "'In the case of Defense, teachers are required only to sit quietly at the front of the room and simper.'"

"It doesn't say that," Blaise said.

"It should," Harry said, pushing forward through the crowd surrounding the bulletin board to get a better look.

The Decree was an obvious response to the amount of gossip going around the school lately about what the Azkaban escape meant with regards to Harry and Dumbledore's insistence that Voldemort had returned. All the escapees were former Death Eaters, and the Daily Prophet's insinuation that Sirius's escape set an example for the rest was thin, at least in Harry's opinion. The professors didn't tend to refute Harry's story when asked, which clearly displeased Umbridge.

It was later that morning when Harry realised the new Decree might be a problem in more ways than one. As he and his fellow Slytherins lined up outside the Potions' room, Pansy pulled him a few feet away from everyone else and leaned in.

"Harry, you look atrocious," she said, and proceeded to take her time about fixing his tie and adjusting his collar. "Do you think your private lessons with Snape count in the ban?"

Harry's eyes widened. The thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"I have no idea," he said honestly. "Do you think she even knows we have private lessons?"

"Well," Pansy said, pursing her lips. "You certainly aren't going to tell her. And I doubt Snape would mention it to the Head Inquisitor and risk her interference."

"A lot of the professors know about it, though," Harry said, deciding immediately that Snape was taking an awfully long time to show up for class. He wanted to see what his professor had to say about this. "And some of what we're doing isn't exactly..."

Legal, was the word Harry wasn't going to say in the middle of a public corridor. Pansy caught on and nodded once.

"I guess you're about to find out either way," she said. Snape had arrived and was ushering everyone into the classroom. They had this class with the Gryffindors, which meant that no matter how Snape split them up, Harry was almost guaranteed to have a friend as a partner. Today was no different.

"Mixed House pairs: instructions are on the board," Snape ordered. "The boomslang blood is at the front. You will measure your ration in front of me. No more and no less than two ounces per pair. Spill and you will receive a failing grade for the day."

Blaise, who had possessed the foresight to sit toward the middle of the room, seized Dudley as the nearest approachable Gryffindor. Draco made brief eye contact with Harry and proved himself to be less contrite than he'd appeared since their return to Hogwarts when he nearly dove for Hermione's table. This left Harry the choice of Neville or Ron. Pansy was already moving swiftly toward the latter; Neville might have been a brilliant Herbology partner, but in Potions he was less than useless.

Harry was not one to be defeated by underhanded tactics. Pansy might be caught off guard by Harry using them, though.

"I've got an open seat here, Ron," he called. Ron looked up. Pansy was still ten feet away from him and turned to scowl back at Harry, which gave him the opening he needed. He summoned Ron's bag and cauldron, and Ron shrugged and got up to follow them.

"Hey," Ron said as he sat down. Harry smiled at him. Over Ron's shoulder, Pansy dropped her bag on the table next to Neville, the last remaining Gryffindor in the room, and glared daggers at Harry. He smiled wider.

"How was your holiday?" Harry asked as the two of them set up the cauldron and started preparing the base ingredients. Ron was a decent partner. He was no Hermione, but then, no one but Hermione really managed that.

"It was alright," Ron said. "Charlie and Bill came for Christmas. Charlie brought me a baby dragon's tooth."

"Wow," Harry said. "Are they more of your brothers?"

"The two oldest," Ron explained as he shredded shrivelfigs. "There are seven of us in all."

Harry shook his head as he tried to remember the full list. "Seven, really?"

"Yeah. BillCharliePercyFredGeorgemeandGinny,"

The rapid-fire delivery threw Harry off for a second. He ran a slower version of the list back through his head and grinned. "I'd forgotten Percy."

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't blame you. I spend a lot of time trying to forget Percy."

Harry decided to let that comment slide. "I'll go get the blood if you like."

"Yeah." Ron shuddered. "Snape likes you Slytherins. If I go up there, I'll get a detention for looking at him funny or something."

Ron didn't lower his voice nearly as much as he should have when he said that, but Snape was fortunately busy hovering like a hawk over the students measuring boomslang blood. His lack of reaction meant he probably hadn't heard.

Harry got in line. When his turn with the blood came, Snape's gaze sharpened.

Harry measured carefully. When he finished, Snape spoke up. "You are one mililiter over, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked and held the tumbler up to reexamine his work.

"Detention, tonight at seven thirty," Snape continued. "For wasting rare and expensive ingredients."

Harry blinked again. Snape's expression was nearly impossible for anyone to read had they not spent as much time with him as Harry had over the years. His dark eyes glinted with well-veiled amusement.

Harry nodded and went back to his seat. Their private lesson tonight started at seven thirty. That answered that question.

Ron looked up as Harry set the blood down on the table and examined it carefully. He didn't think he was over by a mililiter. He assumed Snape was just using it as an excuse, but he still wanted to be sure. This particular potion was very specific.

"Got the blood?" Ron asked conversationally.

Harry nodded, still peering at the tumbler. "And a detention," he added, deciding with his own stifled amusement that Snape had almost definitely heard Ron earlier, as this was exactly Snape's sense of humour. He also decided that the blood was fine.

Ron's eyes bugged out a bit and he demanded, "For what?"

Harry shrugged. "Looking at him funny?" After a beat, he glanced at Ron and grinned.

"You're having me on."

"Nope."

"Blimey. Better you than me, mate," Ron said, baffled at Harry's lack of ire.

"Cheers, Ron, really," Harry responded, and they spent the rest of the class brewing amicably.

* * *

_A/N: Guys. GUUUUYYYS. Before I get reviews saying 'urgh this had better not be slash that's gross icky yuck yuck blah blee bleurgh' (because I will), allow me to say this: *blows raspberry*. Also: People of any gender/orientation are allowed to have deep, meaningful relationships with other people of any gender/orientation without it being romantic/sexual or a prelude to something romantic/sexual. Draco and Harry in this story will not have something romantic or sexual. It would be fine if they did! But in this instance, it happens that they don't. Men are allowed to have friendships that matter, too! Authorial machisimo makes for boring stories. I'm over it. _

_Sorry for the rant. Carry on! Thanks to everyone for all your support and reviews! They make my day. :]_


	61. The Date

That night, Harry turned up at Snape's office at seven thirty on the dot. He knocked, and Snape had only just pulled the door open when a soft clearing of the throat to his right froze him in place.

"Hem hem," Umbridge repeated, and Harry turned to look at her alongside Snape, whose expression had settled into a polite curiosity that was far too still to be truly genuine.

"Professor Snape? I understand that Mr Potter is here for a private lesson?" Umbridge said, consulting a clipboard in her hands and peering back up at them with large, satisfied eyes. "As High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, I'm sure you know it is my duty to observe any and all lessons, private or public, in order to ensure that our students receive only the finest quality education."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Inside, Potter. High Inquisitor Umbridge, after you." He stepped aside to allow them entrance. Umbridge's glance around the room betrayed a hint of distaste as she took in the many clear glass containers filled with unidentifiable organic material. She settled her gaze on Harry and Snape, adjusting the parchments and quill in her hands with fastidious care.

Harry looked at Snape and wondered what had happened to the detention cover, if it had only been a way of privately telling Harry to show up despite Umbridge's new rules. He decided it must have been, as Umbridge had clearly already known about their lessons before Potions this morning.

Harry sat down in his customary spot and became immediately uncomfortable, as both professors remained standing. Umbridge opened her mouth, but Snape was already speaking, smooth and as unruffled by her presence as Harry was trying to look. "As you are undoubtedly aware, these private lessons are sanctioned by the Headmaster and myself, following from my duties as Slytherin Head of House. Mr Potter has professed a certain interest in a career in curse breaking after his graduation."

Harry did not react to that bit of new information, and watched as Snape barreled on, not allowing Umbridge a chance to cut in.

"I work closely with my students who dedicate themselves to furthering their studies, and Mr Potter has completed a positive plethora of extracurricular work which has demonstrated his commitment to his chosen future beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Umbridge hmmed at this made a note on her clipboard. "Very well," she said, frowning at Snape where he stood just to the right of Harry's chair. "Carry on as you normally would." She took a step back and fixed her gaze on Harry, with clear visible doubt that he could actually be a dedicated student.

"Very well," Snape echoed, and executed a sharp series of movements that landed him in his chair behind his desk, facing Harry. "_Tell me your opinion of Briggs's theory of mind._"

Harry remained calm, but only because Snape was watching him steadily and would obviously murder him outright if Harry strayed from whatever plot he'd devised. But honestly, did he expect Harry to _answer _in _Parseltongue_?

A second ticked past, and it appeared that he did.

"_Professor, I don't-_"

"_As we normally would, Mr Potter, as the woman said._"

"_But-_"

"What is that you're speaking?" Umbridge demanded, her quill digging into the parchment attached to her clipboard. Her eyes were wide and she looked quite prepared to be appalled.

Snape lifted his head to glance at her, a polite frown marring his brow. "Uspantek, High Inquisitor. Mr Potter has dedicated himself to curse breaking, as I said, and he has expressed a particular interest in South American magic. This language will be of great use for him when he visits the Mayan magical community."

Umbridge opened her mouth and closed it several times. "Uspantek," she repeated. Snape nodded and turned back to Harry as she busied herself with her clipboard, scribbling furiously.

"_Briggs's theory, Mr Potter,_" Snape repeated. Harry kept his eyes away from Umbridge and answered.

"..._I liked the part about personal identity and- Professor, people know I speak Parseltongue, isn't it a bit obvious -"_

Snape paused and consulted a thick tome on his desk, as though looking for the answer to an academic question Harry had posed. _"I sincerely doubt a Ministry lackey of her ...caliber has come across one of the four or five people alive in the past fifty years who speak the language, unless you have spoken it in front of her, that is. In any case, it's unlikely that she will be willing to call our bluff, not at this stage, not when there aren't any obvious snakes in the room to draw the language from. Now, as you were saying..._"

Harry hesitated. It seemed like a gamble, but Umbridge hadn't interrupted them yet. He glanced over and found her watching him with narrow eyes. _"Er. He talked about the... vastness of internal, er-_"

"_The vastness of internal gestalt,_" Snape finished, with a short nod. "_Indeed. What ramifications do his ideas have when you consider your approach to finding the answer to a particular question within the mind of another wizard?_"

Harry chewed on his lip for a second, refusing to react to Umbridge shifting to his right, nor to the sound of quill on parchment, which had resumed. "_Well, I guess what he was saying was that, er, a person's thoughts aren't going to always form in a way that makes sense to someone else? Because the way we think is mostly caused by past experiences and everyone has their own interpretation of what happens to them, anyway. So if you wanted to find out what I got for my birthday this year, er, first you'd have to puzzle out what the oven had to do with it, and Mrs Figg, because we were in the kitchen when Dudley gave me my present. I remember looking at the oven, and Mrs Figg was always trying to feed me burnt cakes when I was little on my birthdays, and that wouldn't make sense to anyone but me, especially since he got me a set of gobstones, but it would make perfect sense to me, because the nasty smelling stuff in gobstones smells a lot like some of the custard filling in Mrs Figg's cakes. So I suppose you'd have to sort of... decode someone's way of thinking to even know what they were thinking, unless you managed to convince them to think it at you in plain English, which sounds a lot less complicated to me. But then it'd be easier for them to know what you'd found._"

Snape followed this train of thought better than Harry could have hoped, and nodded. "_Excellent. I will take your essay after this saggy, cloying excuse for a dictator leaves us._"

Harry blinked. At least half of every lesson was practical, and from the way Snape was looking at him, daring him to react, this was it. The focus of their work was no longer Occlumency, but Snape continued to test his limits by challenging his focus and ability to Occlude under stress. Usually he did so through duelling or by demanding rapid fire answers to increasingly difficult questions, but it seemed he was trying a new tact today.

"_I have the essay in my bag, sir._" Snape's eyes glinted, and Harry knew the practical portion had only just begun.

"_I suggest advising the Slytherin Quidditch Team to take caution, should they spot our detestable High Inquisitor near the pitch during practice,_" Snape said, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands together with what appeared to be academic interest. "_I have heard several students liken her to a toad, and I would hate to lose the Cup because she mistook one of our players for a particularly juicy fly and caused them injury._"

Harry nodded slowly. "_I'll mention it,_" he said, the picture of an earnest student, even pausing to scribble something in line with their cover story on the parchment in his lap: '_practice animal vocab._' Umbridge narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, then addressed Harry specifically.

"What are you saying?" she asked, with a tone to her question that said she was already past furious but was restraining herself for lack of appropriate outlet.

"Well we try to practice, ah, Uspantek as often as possible, so Professor Snape asked me to describe my morning," Harry explained, looking Umbridge directly in the eye and focusing more deliberately on his Occluding, just in case. "I said, I woke up and Greg had used up all the hot water, so I had a really short shower, and then for breakfast I had two pieces of toast and a bowl of oatmeal, and usually I would have had strawberry jam, but there wasn't any, there was only marmalade, so I had it with butter instead, and then in Transfiguration I had to try the levitation spell twice because Pansy shouted at me and I broke my first glass, and then -"

Umbridge drew herself up to the extent of her unintimidating height and glared at him. "Mr Potter, do you honestly expect me to believe such tripe?"

Harry blinked at her, brow furrowed just a little bit, as though in confusion, and decided to buy Anthony a bookstore in thanks for the constant chatter about language learning methods back in second year. "We were revising food vocabulary, and the simple past tense, ma'am," he said earnestly. Behind his desk, Snape watched the exchange with quiet serenity. "And then Snape was explaining the, er, subjunctive."

"Language acquisition is achieved more easily through a fully immersive experience," Snape added. Umbridge twisted her head around to stare him down. Harry couldn't believe how much he was enjoying this.

"Be that as it may." she said, her voice strained. "I have a few questions, Professor Snape." She took a breath and looked back at her clipboard, composing herself. "How is it that you have such mastery of this language? I don't believe it is commonly known."

"It is a rather unusual dialect," Snape allowed, bowing his head in agreement. "When Mr Potter came to me with his ambitions several years ago, I began looking into his area of interest and learned that, while there are other, commoner languages that may be of use to him, such as Portuguese or Spanish, Uspantek is the language in which most ancient Mayan wizards practiced their craft. When Mr Potter proved himself to be in earnest, and willing to put in the necessary effort, I decided it would be well worth my time to gain an understanding of the language in order that I might tutor him in this as well as in Arithmancy and the Revelative Arts, both of which he will of course study far more intensively in his sixth and seventh years."

"I would prefer that you focus on those lessons for the remainder of our time," Umbridge said stiffly. "In English, if you please."

"As you wish, High Inquisitor," Snape answered, and launched into a highly technical speech about some kind of Arithmantical formula that Harry was almost positive he'd never heard of. He frowned. He could have at least done Ancient Runes. Harry wasn't half bad at Ancient Runes.

Snape caught his eye after about eight minutes spent explaining in great detail the exact angle of casting necessary to invoke Democritus's Law of Tangencies, and Harry realised he'd allowed his Occlumency walls to slip a bit in his boredom.

"Mr Potter, tell me, how many degrees differ between an arc and a loop in a ritual casting?" Harry looked up from strengthening his walls, dismayed. Snape waited with a raised eyebrow.

It was an obvious invitation to attempt to find the answer in Snape's mind. Umbridge certainly wouldn't have that kind of knowledge, if the absent, glazed expression on her face over the past fifteen minutes was anything to go by.

Snape wanted him to use Legilimency right in front of Umbridge. Clearly he had a higher opinion of Harry's skills than Harry did. But Snape was still waiting for an answer, so Harry inhaled slowly, looked directly into Snape's eyes, and pushed.

* * *

"So then I answer questions about advanced Arithmancy for the rest of the lesson, and when we're done, Snape looks at Umbridge and says, 'Thank you for your time. Your presence tonight has been invaluable.'" Harry looked at his friends with wide, despairing eyes. "It was madness."

Hermione had covered her mouth with one hand, but Pansy, who had joined them at their usual post in the library in order to hear the story, had abandoned all pretense and was cackling unrestrainedly into her arms where they were folded on the table.

"Our Head of House is so much better than yours," she told the Gryffindors. Neville and Dudley didn't manage to look too offended, still caught up as they were in the audacity of Harry's tale. "Harry, you have to tell Blaise and Draco, you can't let them go another minute without knowing what a _good person_ Snape is."

Pansy stood up and shouldered her bag, leaning toward the exit and waiting for Harry to follow.

"I'll be along in a few minutes," Harry said, the corners of his mouth turning up in spite of himself at the still beatific smile she wore as she left them.

"Snape's brave," Hermione said, once she'd left. Harry nodded.

"Or something like it," he said diplomatically. "He must have had good reason, though. Snape doesn't just do things."

"Right," Hermione said, looking down at the books and parchments in front of her. Some of it looked like classwork, but Harry saw lesson plans and charts, and something that looked like a schedule which was more full that was physically possible without Hermione's Time Turner. "Thanks for the break, Harry, but I've got to get back to this..."

"Of course," Harry said. She didn't look any more stressed than usual, but that said very little. Neville and Dudley were talking in low voices next to them. Neville looked tired, but the Lestrange breakout didn't seem to be on his mind, currently. He looked concerned with what Dudley was saying. Harry thought about trying to join in the conversation, but decided against it when Neville nodded sympathetically and said something that made Dudley frown in a thoughtful way and fall silent.

"I'll see you guys later?" Harry asked, standing. The three of them nodded and said various distracted goodbyes, and Harry took the long way out of the library to pass by Anthony and Luna's table as he usually did.

"Afternoon," he said to Luna, who was sitting alone at the table, frowning at a book. She looked up at the sound of his voice and smiled.

"Hello, Harry." She moved some of the papers away from the seat next to her, and Harry sat, looking around at the substantially smaller than usual pile of work on the table.

"Where's Anthony?" he asked, glancing around the library as though he might suddenly appear from the stacks, which was usually a distinct possibility.

"With friends," Luna said. Her eyes fell to the book in front of her while Harry processed her words.

"With- wait." He looked around again, at Luna and the books. "Is there another library they only tell the Ravenclaws about?"

"He's not there." Luna shook her head. "He's with friends. Older students."

Harry shook his head, looking around at the lack of books and the quiet despondency in the set of Luna's shoulders. "I've been friends with Anthony since first year," he said. "Anthony doesn't _have _other friends, outside of his dorm mates. Anthony didn't even want to be _my_ friend until I stopped bothering him about going outside."

"You still do that," Luna pointed out, a bit of her smile coming back. Harry huffed.

"Obviously you see my point," he said.

"He said he's decided to branch out," Luna explained, looking a bit baffled by the idea herself. "He said he wanted to gather primary experiential data about social identity and group-structural dynamics."

Harry put his head in his hands. "What did you let him read, Luna?"

Luna studied the pile of books in front of her. "I have no influence over Anthony's recreational reading schedule, Harry, you've seen it yourself."

"I know," Harry muttered. "It's the only non-flexible part of that calendar of his."

"I think I saw him reading something by Milgram, but I didn't get a good look at the title," she admitted.

"I don't know who that is," Harry said. "But if it's got him making friends..." He paused. Was that a good thing or a bad thing when it came to Anthony? "We'll let it be for now, I suppose," he said. Luna nodded, though she still looked gloomy, so Harry ended up staying another hour, giving her a brief summary of the lessons he'd had over the past week with Anthony and talking about crumple horned snorkacks, which he was eighty five percent sure were a thing Anthony would write down.

He wrote the name down himself, just in case.

* * *

"Harry, you can't wear that, she'll laugh at you if you wear that." Pansy said, snatching the offending jumper out of his grasp. Harry paled a little.

"Pansy, I can't believe you. She won't _laugh_ at you, Harry," Blaise said reassuringly, taking the jumper away from her in turn. He held it up to examine it and frowned. "But no, don't wear that."

Harry sat down on his bed and tried to put on his shoes. "Oh-" Pansy said, and he glared at her.

"If you tell me my shoes are hideous too, Pansy, I'm going to hide under my bed until Monday," he threatened. Pansy paused.

"They're lovely," she said with a weak smile. Harry huffed and tossed the shoes in a corner.

"Blaise, I'm using yours," he said, standing up and advancing on Blaise's trunk with his wand drawn. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"We aren't the same size, Harry, just use Draco's," Blaise said, his voice emerging muffled from Harry's wardrobe. "I thought we made you get rid of that in first year," he wondered out loud. Harry didn't bother asking what he'd found.

"Ugh, is it that awful ora-" Pansy met Harry's gaze and her eyes went wide. "I mean, never mind that, Blaise! Harry needs our support right now. I'll go find those shoes."

"She's going to like you, Harry," Blaise said, finally emerging with an acceptable button down shirt and handing it over. "She already does. I mean, she asked _you_ to Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, fumbling with his buttons out of nerves. "What do I talk about?"

"Just don't go on about Quidditch scores the whole time, and you'll be fine!" Pansy called.

"How do you know she isn't a fan?" Blaise challenged, glancing over his shoulder.

"Padma Patil does _not_ like Quidditch," Pansy said, emerging from Draco's wardrobe with the shoes and handing them over. "I did a bit of research for you, Harry. She likes Arithmancy and she's in the Gobstones Club. She has a twin sister name Parvati in Gryffindor who, from the look of things, likes sugar and spice and everything pink. She knows Anthony and doesn't seem to mind Luna, so she's obviously very tolerant. Just ask her questions about herself and let her talk most of the time, and she'll love you."

"He's not going out with _you_, Pansy," Blaise said. Pansy scowled at him.

"Harry has to listen to me if he wants to learn how to be charming around women," she retorted. "It's not like he has any _male_ friends who know what they're doing."

Harry let out a huge sigh, forgetting to be nervous as the two of them bickered. Being friends again didn't mean they didn't sometimes snap at each other. "I'm just going to wing it," he decided out loud.

* * *

Harry decided to meet everyone in Hogsmeade, as he hadn't wanted to walk alone with Blaise and Lisa. It was a bit cold, so he'd worn his nice cloak over the clothing his friends had picked out for him, feeling the nerves seep back in.

"You look like you're about to go on a date," said a female voice directly behind him. He turned and reddened when he realised it was Padma. She didn't howl with laughter or disgust at his clothing or hair, so he assumed Pansy and Blaise had succeeded, at least.

"Er, you look really nice," he said. Her long hair was pinned up and she was wearing a very pretty blue color.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "Shall we walk the rest of the way together?"

Harry nodded. "Sure."

They fell into step and walked in silence while Harry thought frantically of something to talk about that wasn't Quidditch.

"Did you enjoy your holiday?" Padma asked, and Harry swore internally. That was a good question; he should have asked that.

"It was mostly good," he said. "My godfather went a little overboard, but it was a lot of fun. How about you? Did you enjoy Birmingham this year?"

Padma beamed at him. "I always do," she said. "Our aunt and uncle took us to the muggle theatre to see a play. It was very... confusing, actually. None of us had the first clue what was going on."

Harry nodded, smiling back. She had a very pretty smile. "Was it the muggle parts, or just the whole play?"

"I don't think I know enough about muggles to know the answer to that question," she admitted, shaking her head. "There was a part where they just sat in a box and there was a strange growling and the man peered out at us from behind a window and fiddled with a wheel. I had no idea what was happening."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I don't know!" she said, shaking her head. "Was that a muggle thing or just a thing?"

After a few seconds of silence while Harry frowned thoughtfully, he eventually came up with, "Could he have been pretending to drive a car?"

"Harry, you must know I didn't take Muggle Studies," Padma said. "All my family are witches and wizards, and we spend very little time around muggles. I don't know what that is."

"It's..." Harry's eyebrows pulled together as he tried to find a way to describe cars. "Well, it's a small metal room with wheels, and you sit in it and you can make it take you places."

"Odd," Padma said. They had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade by now, and walked in step down the main street. "Why don't they just use the Floo?"

"They don't have magic," Harry reminded her. She looked startled.

"I forget, sometimes, how different it must be," she said. "I wouldn't like being a muggle."

They found Blaise and Lisa holding hands near the Three Broomsticks and talking quietly to each other. Harry immediately remembered to be nervous again.

"I see you've found each other," Lisa said, grinning at them both as they walked up. "Where shall we go? I suggested Madam Puddifoots-"

"-But then I said it's such a nice day out," Blaise interrupted, smiling at her. "Who wants to be cooped up in a tiny tea shop?"

The expression on his face when he looked at Harry was a very pointed 'you're welcome', which Harry decided not to question.

"I'm fine with walking around a little," Padma said, and Harry nodded along.

"Me, too."

"Alright," Lisa allowed. "But eventually we'll have stop for something warm to drink. It's still bloody cold, Blaise."

Blaise used her complaining as an excuse to wrap his arm around her waist, and she looked pleased. Harry felt pressured and did nothing of the sort with Padma, who didn't seem to mind the cold. They walked, and Harry began to understand the point of having the other two there. He was allowed to fall silent at times and listen instead of having to come up with something to say, and when Harry worked up the nerve to take advantage of their hands brushing occasionally, Padma agreeably twined their fingers together while debating with Lisa about where they wanted to go.

"I need a new quill set," Padma said stubbornly, glancing at Harry. Lisa scoffed.

"You don't take a cute boy like that to Scrivenshaft's," she said. Fortunately, everyone was looking away from Harry and missed his embarrassingly violent blush.

"We can stop there if you want, Padma," he offered, and all three of them, Blaise included, looked on him suddenly with approving expressions. It was a little disconcerting.

"You see? Harry doesn't mind at all," Padma said, tugging Harry away from Blaise and Lisa. "We'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks in half an hour, how's that?"

In Scrivenshaft's, Harry dutifully followed Padma to the quill section, where she glanced around and pulled him down the aisle to the self inking quills. "I like you, Harry," she said, still holding his hand loosely as she frowned over the selection.

"I... like you too," he said, hoping that was the right response.

"You're so serious all the time," she said, glancing back at him. "It's difficult not to tease you a little, but I am trying."

Harry blinked. That didn't seem like a good thing at all. Maybe this was more flirting. Maybe she was just hinting that she thought he was awkward. He had no idea what to say.

"Er, well, thank you for trying?" he offered, relief washing over him when she laughed.

"I found what I wanted here," she said, picking up a pack of quills and pulling him, unexpectedly, toward the back of the shop where there were less people. He followed without quite knowing where they were going, and only ended up catching on when she turned and looked up at him expectantly, suddenly very close. He panicked a little, but she didn't seem to notice and he managed to successfully kiss her without breaking her nose or his ego by doing something embarrassing.

When they turned up at the Three Broomsticks twenty minutes later as agreed, he couldn't look at Blaise or Lisa, largely because of all the smirking and eyebrow waggling Lisa was directing at Padma.

* * *

_A/N: I have no idea what Uspantek sounds like. It is a dialect of Guatemalan Mayan, but anything else said about it in this fic is just Snape and Harry making crap up (and yeah, I know Guatemala is central, not south). That scene was a whole lot of fun to write. The girls were fun too. Blaise has a type, can you tell?_

_Apologies for the lateness. I haven't had a computer or a place to live for a while. I've been couchsurfing, basically, and have ended up at my mother's house, where I'm posting this. :\ Hopefully I'll be out of here soon, too, and somewhere more stable?_


End file.
